I, Greg: Or How a Self Insert Destroyed the Wormverse
by Eric d'Orleans
Summary: A petty, self-obsessed teenager who is suspiciously similar to Greg Veder finds out that he is Greg Veder, circa 2010. Armed only with having read 2/3rds of Worm, absolutely no powers, and an extremely kidnappable puppy, Greg "Eric" Veder tries to survive in the face of the greatest foe Worm has to offer: the average teenage girl!
1. Chapter 1: Dein Ende

Summary: A petty, self-obsessed teenager who is suspiciously similar to Greg Veder finds out that he _is_ Greg Veder, circa 2010. Armed only with having read 2/3rds of Worm, absolutely no powers, and an extremely kidnappable puppy, Greg "Eric" Veder tries to survive in the face of the greatest foe Worm has to offer: the average teenage girl!

Featuring special musical guest, the Simurgh.

Chapter 1: Dein Ende

— 1 —

So.

It was like this.

You ever just wake up one day and know it was gonna be a bad day? The sort of day where, later on, you reflect how great of a mistake it was to get out of bed in the first place, I mean. I reckon there's a few ways for a body to tell when you're in that way. Maybe it's precognition or just a self-fulfilling prophecy. It doesn't really matter. What matters is that you know you're gonna have a bad time.

In today's case, it was waking up face-down on a very sticky keyboard that smelled distinctly of Mountain Dew, a headset clinging tight to me, and a weird video and song playing on my PC. Of course, the matter further complicated itself by me being mostly naked with a body that I was 95% sure, wasn't my own. I say 95% because there was this time that I looked into a mirror one time and didn't recognize my own face, then spent the whole night idly wondering if I had been replaced by a shapechanger with amnesia.

I lived a fun life.

Sitting up in my comfy chair, I stared at the computer screen for a moment. The video was trippy. Hard to describe, on a loop, and was playing some weird opera-like song. I took off the headset and leaned back.

This wasn't my computer

For starters, I seem to have been using internet explorer like some kind of plebian. And the date on the bottom right informed me that it was June 23rd, 2010.

Neat.

I spun around slowly and eyed the room. It was a basement, cold and spartan save for a bed, my desk, some bookshelves, and a massive TV with a few game consoles. Most of the room here was unused. I saw a door to another room and a staircase leading upwards.

Alright, so. Neither me nor my house. Because for the record, rural Florida does not allow for basements. You dig anywhere down for five feet and you get water and sand. On the plus side, I get all the alligator I can eat, since, y'know, swamps. I swear, ten foot long man-eating gators are like pests where I'm from.

I looked back at the computer. Windows 7, ya say?

I minimized Explorer and looked at my desktop. A few IE links and folders, as well as applications called Mist (some Steam knockoff), uJam (apparently some indie iTunes ripoff), and something called "P.H.O." that was more or less an IM/calling app. I had no idea what those apps were, but it was clear that this computer was owned by some vile hipster. The folders were: The Path to Being a Philosopher, Schoolwork, Torrents, and Porn.

The first folder was just porn, so was the second one. Third one had torrented porn plus a bunch of other miscellaneous things. Music, videogames, and comic books. The folder labeled Porn seemed to just be schoolwork and a few older non-porn subfolders.

I stood up and said, "Well then, this is new."

Hello there, new voice. It didn't carry as well as the voice I was used to, lacked that… not booming, but ability to just carry and be heard, a powerful presence. Well, no, I was just bullshiting myself there. But this new body felt like a total bitch.

No muscles. Kinda short and skinny. Internet Explorer. Who was I?

Oh yeah, I guess I should have been flipping my shit that I was clearly not who I was when I went to bed last night. But really, that didn't feel important. I mean, what was I gonna do, collapse on the ground and hyperventilate?

I saw a remote on my desk next to my monitor and used it to turn on the TV.

The news was about superheroes in the town of Brockton Bay. The local Wards team had done something interesting, and there was footage of beings doing superhuman acts. Oh look, a flying human!

As if in a daze, I turned the TV off, set the remote on the desk, and gave the tool a little pat. My mind blank, I found myself walking up the stairs into a very strange house.

Capes. Superheroes. Brockton Bay.

Worm.

I was in the Wormverse.

And the most pressing question on my mind was: Just what state am I located in?

I entered the main floor and wandered around until I found a kitchen. Opening the fridge, I found junk food, soda, and other crap.

Nuh-uh!

Instead, looking through the kitchen, I found a glass and filled it with water from the sink. Hmm, was that a bit of dried blood under my nails? Why's that there? As I stood there, idly drinking water and just wondering how long it was going to be before an Endbringer or Jack Slash took a liking to my asshole, I heard footsteps.

From a doorway came a woman's chokey voice. "Greg, what happened to you?"

"Beg pardon?" I asked, looking at the mousey woman who was a good head or so shorter than me.

"Your face!"

I touched my countenance and it stung. There were cuts on both sides of my face, almost as if someone had grabbed me hard, their nails digging into me. I looked at my nails; the blood was there.

I blinked.

Had I done that? Had Greg?

With the most stern face I could manage, I looked to her and said, "Some girl was the absolute worst at my video game and drove me insane last night."

The woman—my mother? Aunt? Milf girlfriend?—ran through a gamut of emotions, from horror to denial, to anxiety, before settling on a blank face. "Ah. Okay."

We stared at each other as she slowly backed out of the room.

I got the feeling this wasn't the first time I had done this.

Also, a shower. I had to clean these wounds.

— 2 —

As I sat under the boiling water of the shower, I thought. The shower in the basement. I had basically a whole apartment to myself down here. Had a shower, toilet, and a washer/dryer combo. And Jesus did the shower's temperature go from cold to HO FUCK fast.

I liked that.

My name—or really, that of my body—was Gregory "Greg". I really had no idea what my last name was, and I didn't feel like asking that mother/milf girlfriend of mine what my surname was. I'd figure that out. I hoped that woman was my mother, and if so, then I dreaded my other idea of her. Did Greg have an Oedipus complex or was that just me?

In any case, from what I gathered from the calendar on my computer, I had just turned fifteen, and I would go to Winslow High as a Sophomore by August. I was 5'8" and suffered from what were clearly growing pains. My shoulders were a lot less broad that my real ones, but I could see I had potential to grow as I, uh, aged. Oh, and I had some acne issues. I could clear that up.

Those nail cuts on my face were strange. They weren't very deep, likely owing to Greg's very short, clearly bitten-down nails. Had I been clawing at my face last night? Weird. I wondered what would drive Greg to do that.

I reckon it didn't matter too much now. That was Greg, and now I'm Greg. A new Greg.

Greg was a lanky thing. Like, I'm pretty sure little girls beat the shit out of him on a regular basis. He got winded like a man ten times his weight, seemed to dedicate most of his PC's hard drive space to porn, lacked clear friends, wasn't very handsome, and overall had absolutely zero redeeming qualities.

I could work with that. I've done better with less before.

The year was 2010 and summer break had only just begun. I had no summer homework and my school was shit. If what I knew of Worm was right, Emma and that Sophie girl were currently doing vile girl stuff in a summer camp by now or something. I wasn't sure; I wasn't really paying attention.

Also, really what state was Brockton Bay in?

I left the shower very clean. And from the looks of things, it had been Greg's first shower in a very long time. I was going to change that. Just like me brushing my teeth as I got out seemed to the first time he'd done so in a few days. the plaque made me sick. How did he live like this?

I made sure my face was as clean and scrubbed as possible, with all zits dealt with cleanly.

That done, I left the bathroom and went to my computers to do some research.

Opening up Internet Explorer, I downloaded Firefox and imported all of my favorites and bookmarks. But before I did that, I looked over my old tab selection.

Parahumans Online (PHO, I think some people called it). I was XxVoid_CowboyxX and looking over a PM I had received from Winged_One

There was a new PM, too, from the letter icon—also from Winged_One

It simply read: "Thoughts on the video?"

Before exiting out of Explorer, I did a little digging and found a note labeled "Passwords" in the Porn folder. It gave login credentials for a ton of accounts, plus his banking information. Oh, Greg, you were not a very clever boy.

I ended Explorer and logged into PHO over on Firefox and saved the credentials into the browser.

But no, why was I here? I hated being on the computer without physical activity for too long. I had all the time in the world to troll forums. Although I did want to see how this world's 4chan was. Since it was 2010, I think this was before they had captcha.

The fact that I could remember a /b/ before captcha meant I was an oldfag. Good times.

I found Greg's not-iPod, a pair of earbuds, and got myself dressed. Greg's wardrobe sucked. I'd need to buy him some hiking boots and running sneakers. He also lacked any of the weapons I had in my room. Not even a paltry hunting knife to hook into my belt. And why did Greg's wardrobe consist mostly of gym shorts? Where were the jeans?

Everything in order, I headed outside into the strange air of a strange city in a strange world—a world I knew only from half-reading a book from the point of a view of a crazy teenage supervillain.

Joy.

— 3 —

"Bye, Ma!" I called out a I left. "Going for a walk. Be back sometimes today, I hope."

The fact that she didn't correct me to "milf girlfriend" meant I was right. She expressed only pure shock that I was leaving my basement room. And likewise, confusion over my backpack—I'd filled it with water bottles, a few pencils, and a blank notebook because of reasons.

My house was pretty nice, all things considered. Not as roomy as my rural house in Florida, but whatever. Nor was it as good as the house I spent time in over in East Tennessee. Home was home.

As a thought, I spoke various words and sentences aloud as I walked around the house. "And then you'll see what I reckon might well be words of a different feather with a side of chickpeas and freedom fries, like he that on a lonesome road doth walk in fear and dread." And so forth. It was basically gibberish, but it still made me think.

Despite being Greg, who was in a state that was very much north of the Mason-Dixon, I still had my Southern patois—a mix of Deep Southern, a fair whack of upper class Southern, and a smattering of my mother's Queens accent. It was the kind of accent where you expected the speaker to bust out his KKK hood and lynching rope at a moment's notice.

I liked to think I sounded cultured. Or pretentious, It was hard to not sound one or the other when you sometimes forget to pronounce yours Rs and all of you "wh" sounds go like "hw."

Still, I had a big, walled backyard. Was it bad that my first thought was wondering what the local gun laws were like? I mean, I had some experience with home making explosives and firearms. I wondered if I could get Greg's dad to buy a gun. Or was I from a single parent household?

Guess I'd have to find out.

At this hour of the morning, I had a long time to just walk. I was always good at directions, but even then, Greg's phone had a GPS map. I would try to not use that if I could help it. Technology stole your soul.

My wallet contained a debit card and $50 in cash. And from what I saw of my bank account, I had around $300 on my debit. Plus, I knew my PIN, so it was all good.

As I walked down the streets of Brockton Bay, I wondered if Greg and I had swapped bodies. I could just imagine him waking up in my body, failing to shave, shower, or brush his teeth. Ruining my social life. Getting attacked by the local alligators And even worse, being a moron with a Yankee's accent.

Which gave me a thought.

I took out a pencil and my notebook and wrote down: "Ideas for Halloween: Captain Confederacy." Greg had much better handwriting than I did. "Confederate flag cape. Shield. Lynching rope. Bandages and painkillers for when I inevitably get my ass kicked for being a racist."

I stopped in a park and found a bench. This city sure was okay. I mean, it was a city, and I hated those on principle. City slickers and minorities lived there. The horror, I know.

I thought about people of note to me, what with my incomplete knowledge of the Wormverse.

Dinah Alcott

GStringGirl

TayTay

Amy Dallon

Noelle ?

Tattletale

All were girls, though. It read more like a list of Woobies than people of note. Dinah had that one super power, so she could help me. Maybe Coil, too; I really didn't mind him too, too much, as far as villains went. But Coil wasn't a woobie, so he got to wait outside.

So I made a list of other people who could help me.

Coil

Those Cauldron People?

Chris Brown (his skills at smacking women might be invaluable in this world)

That Guy in England who "controls" Scion.

Aaand that was it.

As I thought about it, wasn't TayTay at a summer camp, not Emma? Yeah, that was the case. And something happened with Emma and the ABB, I think, and that caused Emma to become a mega bitch and led to Taylor's trigger.

It was a thought: maybe I could stop that? But if I did that, Taylor wouldn't trigger, and her bug powers would never happen, and without her, a lot of bad shit might happen. I think.

Also, in order to stop that, wimpy Greg would have to stalk a fourteen/fifteen-year-old girl. And something about that didn't work well for me. Maybe I could let that happen, have Taylor suffer, and make her my friend? And… actually, what end did that serve?

On the other hand, I reckon everyone's eyeballs would thank me for not letting Taylor trigger. Also, Lung's junk would be indebted to me. Then again, I wasn't sure how how keen I was on the idea of Lung's junk being grateful to me.

Still, stalking Taylor would have to wait until she returned from summer camp. So, no Emma or Taylor. I had to turn my attention to Dinah or Tattletale, if I could either of them. I was sure I could stalk the Alcott family and find her. Her superpowers would be incredibly useful to me.

To what end? Actually, I didn't know. To go home? To save the world? Really, I wasn't sure, but it felt right to stalk a prominent family in order to talk with their prepubescent daughter.

I was not a creep. No sir.

Speaking of which, I really ought get to cleaning up Greg's hard drive some time.

I might chat with GStringGirl. Poor Sveta. I mean, when you're basically a face with a bunch of super strong murder tentacles, what could you do?

I got up and continued my walk around the city. Jesus, Greg was pale. Like, I was White through and through, but Greg was white. When I first stepped outside, my body's first reaction was to hiss and cower.

Pulling up my phone, I checked my map. It was a few miles to the Boardwalk. Might as well check that out before Leviathan destroyed it and turned it into Skitter territory. Actually, that was a thought. Maybe I could find a nice place to stake claim for immediately after not-Godzilla attacked and make sure to run into TayTay.

But that was thinking too far ahead.

As it stood, the biggest issue I had to face right this now was the fact that I was pretty sure that I was burning up from mere moments out in the sun.

—4—

Brockton Bay's boardwalk reminded me of the stories I'd heard of Atlantic City, at least before Hurricane Sandy. I wasn't sure if the boardwalk over there actually existed anymore back home, but… probably?

I perused the shops for anything of note. Nothing upon nothing stood out to me until I found a hat shop, where I found a perfectly suitable brown leather cowboy hat. It was made in the Southern style, and it was genuine leather all right. Back home, I worn on such hat out every day, having gotten it from a small leather shop in Kentucky. This was easily double the price at $40 and not as handmade as the one I negotiated for.

But Greg had money for a reason.

I walked out of there with a cowboy hat. XxVoid_CowboyxX was in business! Still needed to find a pair of boots, though. But that could wait. Thereafter, I stopped by a Greek street vendor and picked up a lamb gyro. Lovely.

As I sat there, eating my gyro and eying the distant oil rig that was the Protectorate's local base, I looked over my options for the remaining summer.

And I came to a set of goals and wrote them down on a new page of the notebook.

Shower every day.

Brush teeth every day.

Work out. A lot.

Don't be a loser (IE, Greg)

Stalk TayTay

Make Taylor Hebert my BFF

After a moment, I added "build homemade napalm" to that list.

 _A/N Originally from SpaceBattles, now your least favorite GregFic SI_ thing _makes it to . Oh boy, prepare to be dissapointed! And yes, I have since read all of Worm, dove into this fandom, and everything else. What matters is that Greg here doesn't have this knowledge._


	2. Chapter 2: Precog

Chapter 2: Precog

— 5 —

"Terrorism."

My father looked at me long and hard. His eyes flickered to my many empty glass bottles, then to the tub of gasoline which I was using to dissolve styrofoam.

Evidently, this was not the answer he expected when he came out onto the back porch and asked, "Say, what are you doing, sport?"

But on the plus side, Greg had a father whose name was Jeremiah. The man was maybe 6'2, well built, and worked in some IT job that paid very well. Ever since new Greg showed up, he'd taken a strong liking to me. I gathered that before I took over, he was borderline depressed over his only son.

From what I surmised, the man was an ex-gangster, known then as "Jerry", which is what all his friends still call him. And on the one time he shared a good many beers with me, he talked too much. It turned out he had been in the Empire 88, back during the days of Allfather.

But still, despite loving the past three or so months with me—it was now early August—my old man really had no words for all the napalm-filled molotov cocktails I was building.

And he especially had no words for the new puppy I was teaching how to make them. I had found a little golden lab during a walk in the one of poorer districts of Brockton Bay a few days ago, whereupon I had claimed him, dubbing him "Lord Woofers the Indomitable", and hatched a nefarious idea.

Jeremiah continued to look at the dog. I looked back up and replied, "I finally found a home for him, so you can say goodbye to him."

He nodded very slowly. "Son, I never thought you'd grow up to be like this. I have to admit, you were starting to scare your mother and I. When we saw you bring that dog home and start spending all your time in the basement with it, well… I have to say I'm just glad it isn't what we thought."

I blinked. "Wow, Dad. Thanks for the, uh, vote of confidence."

He tussled my freshly cut hair. "Any time, sport. Hey, you wanna go play tennis after you give the dog its home?"

I had found we both loved this sport. Coupled with my workout schedule, my insistence on only drinking water and eating healthy (and cutting out as much sugar as possible), Greg's body had started to change. Muscle took shape, my acne cleared up so well you'd think I had baby's skin (thank you, skin care products), and I could stand outside for five minutes without getting a sunburn. If I'd done nothing else for Greg, then I'd given him a pretty good body, but I still had a ways to go to be fit enough to survive the Leviathan apocalypse.

Well, come to think, Greg survived the end of Brockton Bay by being a pasty white dough boy. Maybe I was overworking myself? In fact, just to be safe, perhaps I should stop by Fugly Bob's every day from now till Leviathan just to be sure.

Nah, I liked this. How else was I going to impress the girls with New!Greg if he wasn't swole? Or at least, if he wasn't a total goddam wreck.

"Actually, Dad, this might take a while," I said. "I have no idea how long it will be before I get Lord Woofers the Indomitable set up safe and sound.

"Alright, son. You know best, I guess." Jeremiah left me.

Of the two of my parents, only my mother had raised questions about my new accent or behaviors. Father just seemed to be okay with it so long as I wasn't a "disappointment" anymore. No, really. I once got into a photo album of his, and every photo of me had been circled in red marker with the word DISAPPOINTMENT written on them.

— 6 —

I soon finished building weapons straight out of the anarchist's cookbook and stashed them out in our shed. Thereafter, I took Lord Woofers inside to get him his leash. The dog had come with a leash and well-groomed hair. Obviously, he had an owner, but he lacked a tag. So, to be safe, I had licked Lord Woofers in order to establish legal precedent of my ownership back when I'd found him.

Now, I had to go out and arrange my plan. With a full wallet, an old trenchcoat, and my cowboy hat, I set out on my quest with Lord Woofers resting in one of the giant internal pockets of the coat, like a joey to my kangaroo.

Did you know there were no less than five families named Alcott in the greater Brockton Bay metropolitan area? Three of them live outside the city proper. Two of them are well-to-do. And both of these had only one little daughter.

Problem was: I knew nothing about Dinah Alcott other than the fact that she was a little girl. I had observed two such families and followed them a bit for the past weeks. Without knowing their names, of course.

Last week, I had followed one of the Alcott clans, and seized upon the chance to talk to one of little girls when she wandered off on her own way. She had maced me, beat the shit out of me, and stole my wallet. Her name was Clara.

I had called home and got a ride back. My folks were extremely understanding of the circumstances. I got the impression this sort of thing happened to old Greg a lot.

Therefore, this Dinah was the real Dinah by process of elimination.

Dinah was off for summer break too. There was a big park she liked to go play in with her friends. She would often go there and back on her own, presenting me a perfect time to ambush her into a conversation.

And since she _was_ a precog, the girl would have likely predicted me showing up. I didn't imagine she'd be too surprised. But just in case things seemed to go bad, well—I had Lord Woofers for a reason. Speaking whereof, I had to let him out for a little walkey before he pissed in my coat.

It took only an hour or so on public transportation to get to Dinah's favorite park at her usual hour. I had never ridden on a public bus until I came to Brockton Bay. Did they smell of pee by design, or was that just an added feature created via public effort?

This world of superheroes sure was full of wonders!

Getting off the bus, I took a look at the park. There, hanging upside down from a set of monkey bars and talking to some boy of same age, was Dinah Alcott—I hoped. The boy blew a raspberry at her and took off running. She spun herself to drop to the ground and chased back after him. Like a goddamn rugby player, she tackled the shit out of him and placed her rump on his back victoriously

As I stood there, watching a bunch of little kids play in the park, I was absolutely sure that nothing about this was creepy in any way, shape, or form—despite the odd feeling of being watched right back. In the Wormverse, that feeling likely meant you were about to get taught a thing or two about love by a crazed parahuman, but since the precog Dinah didn't seem concerned over there as she lorded her victory over the boy, I was probably totally safe. It wasn't like I had a conscience or anything telling me this was wrong. Nope.

I knew from -stalking- _careful prior observation_ that Dinah went a particular route home. She would leave this park in about an hour. The bus schedule wasn't very conducive to my search. It was either too early or too late, and this was the least early I could arrive.

Lord Woofers barked, so I let him out for a walk at the edge of the park. Thank God for the little poop bags at stands for public use. A gaggle of kids saw the puppy and squealed with delight. I allowed Woofers and the children to mingle, smiling the whole way.

Something about the whole scene made me forget that this was Worm, and so these children's future were probably depressing, filled with villains, loss, and BEEEES. I glanced up to see Dinah talking with other children.

There was only so much time left.

I took up Lord Woofers, apologized to the children, and left the park—heading the way Dinah would be going in no time flat. The route was fairly empty, owing to a bit of construction going on here. The only completed building around was a 7 Eleven at the corner.

— 7 —

I took up position in an alley, sitting on a box and waiting for Dinah to show up. Somewhere distant, I heard a big dog bark. Lord Woofers made a cute little howling noise in response. Good little boy. Be part of the pack!

After nearly half an hour waiting, I heard footsteps coming up the street.

All I could do was remain in place. I tucked my hat a little bit forwards, looking all mysterious.

And there she was, walking past the alley. She was holding the straps of her little backpack as she strolled without a care in the world.

"Psst, hey kid," I said, and the little girl froze. "Yeah, you. Talkin' to ya."

Dinah Alcott turned to look at me, gazing at me with infinite trepidation.

"Hey, kid. You want a puppy?" I asked, reaching a hand into my trenchcoat. I shot her my very best totally-not-a-sexual-predator smile. "He's in here. Just lemme open the coat up."

"If that's anything but a puppy," the little girl spoke quite seriously, "I'll scream."

Slowly, I took out Lord Woofers by the scruff of his neck. He let out a happy bark, which that distant big dog replied to. "You can have him for free. All you gotta do is riddle me a few questions, Miz Dinah Alcott."

She stepped back in surprise before eventually settling on a suspicious look. But before she could reply, I heard a scuffle from behind me, deeper in the alley.

A girl with ripped jeans, a leather jacket, and dog mask hopped the fence of the construction site and glared at me. She stood mere inches from me. I knew that girl—it was Bitch!

Oh fuck, it was Bitch!

"Hey, fuckface," she growled, and slugged me across the cheek with a fist I was sure was made of concrete.

I tumbled to the ground, Lord Woofers going flying. The girl caught the dog as she kicked me hard across the ribs.

"Just who the fuck do you think you, are, stealing someone's dog!" she yelled, punctuating every work with another kick.

"I didn't know!" I tried, and she stomped on my back.

"He had a fucking collar!"

"I licked him to claim ownership!"

Her boot rammed into my head, pushing me back a few inches. Oh hey look, pretty stars and blood.

Bitch spat on me, then turned about face and stormed down the alley. She vanished out of sight soon thereafter.

Dinah just stood there.

After a moment, I managed to get myself to my knees. Spitting out blood, I felt myself over. Nothing felt broken, just beaten the shit out of.

My eyes fell to Dinah. "Why didn't you scream for help?"

She shrugged. "There was a puppy. That means no screaming. We had a deal, remember?"

The distant howling of one of Bitch's dogs covered me mumbling curses upon Dinah and her household. "You knew this would happen, didn't you?"

Dinah shrugged. "Usually I have to wait a little bit before a cape comes to beat up the creepy trenchcoat guy in an alley. Though this is the first time there's actually _been_ a puppy." Dinah paused thoughtfully. "And the first time the cape has been a villain."

After a moment, she added, "I suppose that makes you the good guy."

"You enjoyed that, didn't you?" I accused.

In lieu of a response, Dinah set her backpack on the ground and opened it. She brought out something and held it out for me to take. It was a pair of Groucho Marx glasses—with the big eyebrows and mustache. "Here. One of my friends gave me this today, but I think you need it more than I do."

I gave her a funny look as I rubbed my back. Jesus, my forehead stung like a bitch. That was certainly blood there. I needed to get ice for it.

"If you're going to go around randomly getting in fights with supervillains like Hellhound, well… Don't worry though—" she winked "—your secret identity is safe with me."

"I think," I said, more to myself than anyone else, "this is the first time I've found myself legitimately loathing a child. You know," I went on, "you're remarkably cool about all this. Trenchcoat creeps, supervillain attacks. Just another day in Brockton Bay for you?"

The girl shrugged. "Yesterday I saw Aegis chase down a mugger and return an old lady's purse. So, iunno."

"Riiight," I groaned.

Dinah smiled wide. "So, you wanted to ask me a question? Also, how do you know my name?"

"Because I know things," I groaned. "Just as you do. Now, stay there, I'm gonna go get some ice from that 7 Eleven." I pointed at her, then at the ground, wearing a stern expression.

She followed me to the 7 Eleven like a little sister. I bought some ice, used it for my face, and some to chew. I offered her some, but she shook her head and pointed at the slushie machine.

"What?" I asked.

"If you don't want me to go to the police, you'll buy me a slushie. I want grape flavor."

I stared at her long and hard before sighing. This was the universe of superheroes and villains, and here I was being blackmailed by a tiny child. I came back with the biggest grape slushie size they sold.

Handing it over made her squeal with joy. "My parents never get me one this big!"

"I hope it gives you diabetes," I groused, leaving the store. I stook a seat by the edge of the wooden fence at the very extent of the gas station's lot. Dinah did likewise.

I held the ice to my face and stared at this, that, and everything.

The slushie cup looked positively gigantic, and the glee with which she'd taken it suggested to me that her parents wouldn't let her have it normally.

"Why are you still here?" I asked at length, popping another ice cube into my mouth. One nice thing about Greg was that he had all of his real teeth. Somehow. I felt like most of mine were fillings from before I realized my eating habits were toxic, and took up an obsessive oral hygiene regimen. I intended to keep Greg that way.

"Because," Dinah said in between sips of her slushie, "for some reason, you're nice, weirdly entertaining, and nothing good is on television for at least another hour and a half."

I uttered a lonely laugh. "I think I can work with that, Miz Alcott."

"You talk funny. Are you from Texas?" she asked.

"Blount County, deep in rural east Tennessee, actually. Though I did live in rural Florida up until recently."

"How recent?"

"Three months."

"Huh," she offered, and went back to drinking.

"Y'know, if you drink that whole thing, you'll ruin your appetite for dinner. And it's not good for you."

"Don't care," she replied, then cringed hard as a bit of brainfreeze hit her. Eventually, she asked, "So, why were you looking for me anyway?"

"I know you have powers, Dinah," I said quite seriously.

Dinah set her slushie aside for a moment. "I do?"

I gave a grave nod. "There's no use hiding it. I know you can see the future. You're the one who predicts the end of the world."

The little girl seemed to give that a good long think before she picked her slushie up and continued to drink. She took a long suck until she hit the bottom. With a frown, she shook the cup. Dinah looked at me and said, "Y'know, sounds like you're the one who can see the future here." She smiled at me, her teeth and gums stained purple. "Besides, if I ever get powers, I'm going to be like Alexandria. Beat up all the bad guys."

"Seems like you'd make a better villain than a hero," I offered, chewing on a cube like it were cud. "Beating up little boys, extorting slightly bigger boys."

She didn't seem to be too bothered that I must have been watching her play earlier. All Dinah did was shrug.

I sighed. This little kid seemed so different from the drug-addicted, hopeless Dinah from Worm proper. A part of me actually hurt at the idea of her becoming that… thing. I think I understood how TayTay had felt, why she was so compelled to save Dinah. I mean, for God's sake, I had actually been sort of on Coil's side even up to the point where Taylor shot him dead. I thought he was interesting enough to keep alive, and I wanted to see his plans through out of pure curiosity.

Dinah tossed the cup aside and looked at me. Filthy litterbug! "So, what was that bit about the end of the world?"

I shrugged. "I don't know how it goes. Something about Jack Slash ending the world in about four years from now. I actually have no idea. It was your prediction. Or will be. I ain't me too sure of how to conjugate for past future tense."

"But apparently I make it?" she asked.

I nodded. "Apparently, you trigger at some point in the future. Powerful people want to use that, Dinah."

She looked pensive for a moment. But, with a bright looked, she said, "Then I'll make sure not to trigger!"

"Let's hope, then? Would sure put a wrench in a certain manipulative bastard's plans."

Dinah shot me an inquisitive look.

With a smile, I noted, "You actually end up helping this supervillain gain control of the city and living in his secret underground lair, come to think."

"Oh," she said, "so I _am_ some sort of villain. An evil future-seeing sidekick." She paused. "What about the supervillain? At least tell me he was cool. Who even was he?"

"Coil," I said.

"Who?"

I laughed and tousled her hair. "Hey, do you have a cell phone?

"Um, duh!"

"Put my number in there."

"Why?" she asked, suddenly suspicious.

"Because if what I know is true, then you'll be scared and alone. You'll need a friend. And if you need someone to help you, I want you to know you can call me. I don't know what I'll do, or even if I could anything in the face of a man like Coil, but I'd sleep easier at night at least _trying_ , ya kenn?"

"Um, okay? You got a name?"

"Gregory Veder. Or just Greg for short." And yes, I had managed to learn my last name in the three months I'd been Greg. It was actually a pretty badass name, and I suspected it was Dutch.

She entered me into her phone as "Crazy Puppy Guy Greg".

I guess that would have to do. We exchanged numbers.

With that, she stood up. 'Hey, I gotta go. Don't attack any other little girls with puppies, okay?"

"I make no promises!" I declared.

She rolled her eyes. "Well, if you do it again, I know your phone number and can get the police to get you." Dinah gave me a wink. "But bye-bye for real. My parents are probably gonna start to worry soon."

"Oh, one last thing, Dinah."

"Huh, Mister Greg?"

"Can this whole day be our secret?"

She gave her a conspiratorial smile and skipped off, disappearing around a corner.

I took out my iPod, popped in the earbuds, and set out back to the bus station.

All things considered, I reckoned today had gone as well as it could have. Lord Woofers the Indomitable would be well taken care of by his proper owner now, I hoped. And I was sure the Undersiders would find his new napalm molotov making skills an asset.

And to home I went. I needed to prepare for school later this month. But at least I accomplished one of my goals this summer. I wondered how TayTay was doing.

Speaking of, I needed to start to prep for "Operation -Stalk- _Befriend_ TayTay". And maybe if some of my napalm molotovs somehow found their way into Emma's house, I was sure nobody would complain.


	3. Chapter 3: Woof

Chapter 3: Woof

— 8 —

Wheels.

In.

Heels.

I sat on my workout bench and tapped the heels of my combat boots on the concrete ground. Greg's room made for an excellent home gym, and it was where I did most of my work. As the TV went on in the background, I examined my handiwork.

Wheels in the heels of my combat boots.

The idea had struck me as I walked down a street on the boardwalk and found out that in this world, Heelys (the shoes with wheels!) were a thing. And with the odd new sets of boots I got, I decided to convert the combat ones into my very own Heelys.

Yeah. Nothing could possibly go wrong with this.

My phone received a text. With a hard lurch from my workout bench, I wheeled over to my desk. Frak yeah, this was just as awesome as I figured it'd be.

The phone had received a text from Dinah.

She'd been doing that from time to time for reasons beyond me. Sometimes to vent. Sometimes to ask inane questions. It'd been only four days since we'd met, but still, she was a good kid. And she needed friends who weren't Greg.

 _dads really excited about something next week. Something that he won't tell me about._

And again right after:

 _moms not too happy tho._

 _i asked if it had something to do with a puppy_

 _he said maybe when im older_

 _my birthday is next week_

She texted fast, but at length, I managed to get in a response.

 _Will there be cake? And if so, am I invited?_

Dinah wasted no time replying.

 _lol no_

And that was the end of that chat.

I tossed the phone back on the desk with a growl. It fell off the desk and hit my mouse, turning on my computer monitor. Rare was the occasional when I sat down and used the rig. And for 2010, Greg had some serious hardware. I could probably play Crysis on this thing—assuming that game existed in this world.

As the screen turned on, I saw I had a message from Winged_One via the Skype-like PHO app. I had gone onto Parahumans Online only recently, having ignored it for much of my time as Greg. XxVoid_CowboyxX was a popular person it seemed, and Winged_One had been worried by my absence.

She had (and I was sure it was a she by now) been extremely concerned over my sudden disappearance. But also, she congratulated me on my longest stretch without an infraction in ever. I figured Winged_One lived somewhere in Brockton Bay, which is how she and Greg had met. Or because Greg was Greg and she was still talking to him, maybe they had never met in the flesh. That, or maybe she had like four chins and was the best Greg could do. Who knew?

"Yo," Winged_One wrote me, dated at this very minute. "Seen the news?"

I turned to the TV. It was this world's and region's conservative news channel. Basic cable and all, y'know. In the Wormverse, the only news channel I recognized was CNN; no other channel from my world had survived over here. And I didn't really care for CNN. This was the channel Greg had been on when I first arrived, and I saw no reason to change it when I only turned on the boob toob for background noise.

The newscaster was talking about the Undersiders. The headlines read "Robbery Gone Wrong". It seemed like earlier this morning, Grue, Regent, and "Hellhound" had hit a jewelry store, but in the course of hitting the store, it had somehow caught flame. Napalm was involved. No one was hurt, but it took fire rescue (plus a cape or so) a very long time to put the blaze out.

The store was taken to the cleaners, haul-wise.

Armsmaster had been the first to respond and had given chase, but the Undersiders had escaped.

And in other news: Applebee's. Could eating there cause cancer? The answer may surprise you.

I turned the TV off and replied to Winged_One.

"Aye, so I did. Undersiders and fire. Clean getaway"

"This city's going to hell :(" she replied.

I set myself to offline mode and turned the computer off. A thought had crossed my mind.

I had found Lord Woofers the Indomitable in a part of the docks. I recalled Taylor had gone there to help Bitch with her dog's and had encountered Empire 88 thugs in the process. All in all, I knew the general location, if not the specifics. Those skinheads likely knew where all the wild dogs and howls came from.

Why did this matter?

Well, Bitch had Lord Woofers, and I had to get him back and give him to Dinah for her birthday. Also, I had to get vengeance. I couldn't let Bitch just disrespect me.

Rachel whatever-your-surname-was, I was coming for you!

— 9 —

By late midday, there I stood with my hat, my brand new leather duster, and a red bandanna, ready to leave the house. Oh, and with a zippo lighter, four napalm molotovs, a can of bear mace, and tucked behind my back my father's revolver.

I let my folks knew I'd be gone for a while, and caught a bus down to the docks. From there, it was only a short few blocks of wandering until I found them, the Empire 88. They had eventually given up the location of the area with the most feral dogs roaming around, but it had cost me.

And by cost, I mean I'd had to sit in during the local Empire sect's monthly book club. This week, they had been doing a study of Kevin McDonald's _Culture of Critique_ , and I was required to do an on the spot book summary thereof. Thankfully, I knew what it was: "The Jew Did it: The Book".

Allain " _Unloading my Nine at the Welfare Line_ " Thompson, the leader of the book study group, had commended me on my ability to concisely summarize the reading, but gave me negative three points for being too general. I'd had to make up those points by teaching a skinhead about how to properly pick up chicks at the abortion clinic.

When we returned, they had asked for my name. Stupidly, I just up and told them Greg Veder.

"Wait, your name's Veder?" Allain asked, craning his neck an inch.

"Um, yes?" I offered. The chairs in this book study room were oddly comfy. The ten Nazis, other other than Allain, turned their full attention to me.

"Any relation to Jerry Veder?" he asked, leaning back.

"Jeremiah Veder, you mean? He was my father."

"Well shit," he said. A couple of the other Empire 88ers exchanged knowing looks. The young skinhead whom I'd helped get a girlfriend just shrugged.

"I… take it that means something to you?" My eyes flickered around the room. I liked how cold it was in here: Nazis loved their AC. "Hopefully something good, because while I could jump out that window and make a break for it, I'm pretty sure the landing wouldn't do me any favors."

Allain just laughed. He had a deep, booming laugh that went well with his braided Viking-style beard.

One of the older gents next to me slapped me on the back, joining in the laughter. "Come on," he said, "let's not keep the poor kid in suspense."

The leader carefully put in a bookmark and closed his book. "I take it your father never told you, did he? How he used to…" Allain paused and seemed to reconsider. "Well, it's not our story to tell, not really. If you want to know, you'll have to ask ol' 'Aryan vs. Predator' himself. But in the meantime, you were asking about the girl with the dogs? Yeah, I think we can help you there."

I left the Empire 88 guys on very good terms: they offered me a free beer and the opportunity to do some low level work for them if even I needed some quick cash.

That's how I ended up in front of Bitch's warehouse.

I could hear a storm of barks from within. The rusted skeleton of a small crane stood atop the partially constructed building, like a toy just waiting for a coin. I wondered if it still worked, and if I could use it to capture Bitch.

Before I dared to go inside, I had cased the joint, as it were. Outside, behind the building, there stood a field of uncut grass surrounded by chain link fence, Much of the concrete had been rainswept, with greenery colonizing much of the building.

Now, from the other side of the warehouse door came a distant scratching. It didn't sound like it was this door, but somewhere deeper into the warehouse.

Well, what the frak? I opened the warehouse door and found myself in some sort of reception room. Once upon a time, I figured that security might well have been intended to work here. Or maybe a receptionist.

I closed the door behind me, and the room grew darker. The only light came in from a broken window high above the door.

That's when all of two things happened: I heard a chorus of angry barks from the other side of the next door, and that very door found itself thrown open.

There, breathing hard, stood a woman with auburn hair and hateful eyes. Bitch couldn't be bothered to wear her mask; it was just her raw flesh. She sort of reminded me of a slightly more bonable Hillary Clinton. I recalled that Taylor had said that you might have described her as butch, which is why in my mind I had conjured up Bitch to look like Mickery Rourke with a vagina. But here, right now, it wasn't that she looked like a bull dyke so much as she just failed to appear feminine.

I shot her a smile, locking eyes with her. Like with any woman, it was important to never break eye contact first, and thus establish myself as the alpha male. And like any normal human female, the moment I showed weakness, she would tear off my balls and eat them.

"Heya, Bitch," I said, taking a step towards her. "Long time no see, sug'."

Bitch whistled. "Brutus, hold," she said in a voice far too calm for the look on her face.

A rottweiler jumped out from behind the receptionist's desk and just tackled the shit out of me. Brutus' jaws clamped around my calf hard.

I resisted the urge to scream as he held me there. Under all the pressure, it felt like I was being raped by a morbidly obese prostitute. But despite that, I didn't feel skin tearing, just bruising mighty bad. I almost didn't notice Bitch walking up and kicking me in the ribs.

"Just who the fuck do you think you fucking are?" she demanded, seemingly more to herself than anything else.

"Sir Badass the Inglorious," I replied, and she stomped on my stomach.

"Go shit yourself and die!" She gave me a look of utter disgust as I writhed there, trying to catch my breath. Before I could catch myself, she kicked me in the balls. Oooh, pretty colors. Joke was on her, though. I always wore a cup!

Wait, no—that just made her try several times against to grind my balls into a fine paste under her boot. I wondered if this was how Bitch spayed or neutered her dogs in lieu of vets.

Bitch grabbed me by the shirt collar and tried to pick me up. Christ, she had long, sharp nails! She ordered Brutus to let go of me, just so that she could all but throw me. I clattered and rolled across on the ground for a good foot or so before Bitch said, "Fetch"

Brutus happily trotted forwards, grabbed my leg again, and dragged me right on back.

I dove a hand into my duster and grabbed my bear mace. "Fetch this, mother—"

Brutus leg go of my leg and instead opted to bite my hand. I dropped my mace in an instant. Fuck, that was $50! The dog grabbed the can and carried it over to Bitch. She patted him on the head and took the can, putting it in her jacket.

Using the distraction, I jumped to my feet and wound up standing a good few inches taller than Bitch when we were matched up. Bitch eyed me, baring her teeth. Behind her, into the greater warehouse, I could see a gaggle of other dogs just watching at a comfortable distance. I wondered which one was Angelica and that one other dog that Leviathan would kill.

Through my mind briefly flashed all what I knew of dogs and their psychology. Bitch only understood dogs, even acted like one; all her human social savvy has in a sense been literally retarded by her power.

I had to prove to her that I was the alpha male.

Bitch took a harsh step towards me. I mimed the action, still staring into her eyes. But as I set my left foot forwards, the sudden sharp rush of pain made me falter. I glanced down to look at my leg, but saw no blood. The pain subsided to a dull hum that was sure to screw me over tomorrow morning.

The girl didn't have any problems with running up to me and slugging me in the stomach while I was distracted.

I doubled over, struggling to catch my breath. Bitch opened on me with a storm of kicks, and I was only so glad she had never invested in steel-toed boots. Like a ball, I rolled with the wails until I was pressed up against the front door.

She grabbed me, hauled me up, and headbutted me. As I hit the door, reeling with stars in my eyes, she pushed away from me and just glared at me.

Why was she not murdering me?

Wait, no. I knew why! It's a dog thing; she didn't intend to outright kill me, merely savage the shit out of me and make run me off. Yay?

I grabbed the latch and drug the door open. After opening it, I spun to slip through. Bitch's foot hit me square above the ass, and I tumbled out of the warehouse, landing on my face and scraping my cheek something awful on the concrete.

Without thinking, I turned around to look back up at the doorway.

Bitch was standing there, glaring at me, as if so say "my territory, and I"ll piss all over you if you try this again".

She uttered a harsh grunt and tried to shut the door, only for me to put my foot into the gap between wall and door. The sturdy leather of the combat boot deadened the impact of the door. So, worse come worse, only a few of my toes were broken. I too needed to invest in steel toed boots.

That was when I felt something cold press up against the back of my head. A gun. From behind me, a girl said, "I take it you know what part comes next."

"We all go out for ice cream and sing kumbaya?" I hazarded.

"Close, but no cigar," she said.

"What are you doing here?" Bitch demanded.

The girl holding the gun said, "Well, someone had to make sure you didn't run off to attack the Protectorate's oil rig on your own. And I drew the short straw."

Bitch snorted. "Like you could fucking stop me."

"What's the beef with the Protectorate all the sudden?" I asked.

The gun was pressed a little harder into the back of my head. "Look, here's how this is going to go. You're going to get up, walk away, and never come back here. Don't come looking for us. You got lucky that Bitch only hurt you. She's killed people before."

"But she stole my dog!" I protested.

The girl paused for a moment. " _Your_ dog?"

"Aye. Lord Woofers the Indomitable. Cute little golden lab puppy. Loves cuddles and—"

"Making bombs?" she finished. "That's your dog?"

"His name is Biscuits, you fucking fuck!" The hate in Bitch's eyes had no words.

I felt the gun no longer pressing up into my head. I turned around to get a look at the girl behind me.

She was dressed in a skintight outfit that combined black with a pale shade of blue and her dark blond hair was long and windblown. With a mask that reminded me of Zorro, she looked down at me in a way that, despite clearing being threatening, was so soft compared to Bitch's eyes that it was almost comforting.

Hello, Tattletale.

The girl crossed her arms. "Alright, new plan. We're going inside and you're going to tell us everything you know about… Biscuits. Or Lord Woofers."

I nodded.

— 10 —

"And that's when he started holding the funnels in place while I poured the napalm," I explained, spinning around in my little chair.

Tattletale sat on the receptionist's counter, slowly nodding as I spoke. When I finished, she asked, "And none of that seemed weird to you?"

I shrugged. "He's just a dog."

"That's what I've been saying," Bitch growled. She had been pacing back and forth during the whole chat.

"Besides," I went on, "we live in a world with flying golden laser men and wherein some people can build quantum devices from common household appliances. I suspect the term weird hasn't really applied to anywhere here for a very long time."

Bitch turned to Tattletale. "Biscuits is just smart. Doesn't mean there's something wrong with him."

Tattletale shifted in place as he rubbed her temples for the third time in as many minutes. "You know, I think I just want to go back to bed. I do _not_ need to be dealing with a canine that can make explosives."

"Thinker headache?" I asked with a smug grin.

She shot me a strange species of glare, but it was clear her heart wasn't in it. In a total deadpan, she said, "Oh wow. Figured out I'm a thinker, did you? I had a medal for most clever guy, but I think I left it in my other bra."

"How do we get Biscuits back?" Bitch asked.

"Lord Woofers the Indomitable," I corrected.

Through gritted teeth, Bitch returned, "Biscuits, fuckface."

Tattletale sighed. "Goddamn children, the both of you!"

"How. Do we. Get back. My dog?" Bitch demanded.

Tattletale looked me over, then returned her eyes to Bitch. "That depends. If they think he's just an ordinary dog, he's with animal control. If they think he's some sort of cape dog, he'll be in PRT lockup. Hell, he may be in PRT lockup anyway just in case they can learn anything about your powers from him. Sort of depends on what Armsmaster thought after he caught him."

"I never used my powers on him," Bitch replied, crossing her arms. "That's dumb. He's not trained."

Tattletale offered a noncommittal shrug. "But they don't know that."

"So," I spoke up, "how do we figure out where they're keeping the dog?"

"Oh, I have my ways."

"Uh-huh," I said with a nod. "So does that mean you're going to, like, hack into the PRT computers?"

Tattletale glared at me. "Yes. I'm going to hack the PRT computers."

"You keep making that face and it's going to stick," I offered helpfully.

She looked to Bitch. "Can you give me a break and go back to beating him for, like, five minutes?"

Bitch shook her head. "The noises he makes scares the dogs."

Tattletale sighed. " _Of course_."

I did another full revolution in the old spinning chair. "So. You go figure out where Lord Woofers is kept. Then what?"

"I rescue him," Bitch replied, going back to pacing.

"No, you don't," Tattletale said. "Like I said earlier before you stormed off: you're not going to go attack any capes on your own."

Bitch growled.

"Mind if I lend a hand?" I asked, and both girls looked at me—Bitch glaring, and Tattletale just dubious.

"You don't have powers," Tattletale added pointedly.

I sat there with a borderline smug look on my face, and after a moment, her eyes went wide. "Or… you do have powers? You're a thinker?"

I shrugged. "So I know things. Doesn't make me a thinker."

Tattletale and I exchanged a very long look. I swear I could see her thinker power to just _know_ things working on overdrive. And from the look on her face, whatever her power was giving her was deeply unsatisfying.

"And in any case," I went on, "I got me mace, grenades, and a shed full of bombs. I can totally help get Lord Woofers back."

"Bitch still beat the shit out of you, though," she pointed out in an even tone.

"Only because I let her," I said quite seriously. "I came here with peaceful intentions, more or less, in an attempt to get back what she stole from me."

"Fuck you," Bitch retorted, "Biscuits was mine!

"His name is Lord Woofers! Lord Woofers the Indomitable!" I jammed a finger in her direction, leaping up out of the chair. "And do you know who was a good boy? He was, yes he was." I turned to Tattletale. "Trust me, if I'd come here to harm Bitch, she'd be mighty harmed. Either by my molotovs, the bear mace, or this—" And with that, I reached into the back of my waistband and pulled out my revolver.

Tattletale pulled out her pistol and aimed it at me. "Whoa, whoa there, cowboy!" she warned.

"That's _Void Cowboy_ to you!"

"Fine—put the down gun now, Void Cowboy!"

I rolled my eyes. "I ain't aiming me to kill nobody. You can tell from how I'm holding it, even." I angled the weapon so she see could my pointer finger extended straight along the gun, not on the trigger. "Basic weapon safety. Don't even touch the trigger unless you intend to kill someone." I took a long step towards her. "So hands off, dollface. And if you don't, then remember—aim with the eye, shoot with the mind, and kill with the heart."

Our eyes locked and silence reigned. It was just me and her. Oh, and Bitch, who was pacing around and muttering, "Shoot him!"

At length, Tattletale put the gun away and sighed.

My heart felt like it was about to explode. Holy frakking shit, that worked! On the one hand, what in the nine hells was wrong with me? But on the other hand, the gambit had worked. I had shown myself the dominant alpha type. Take that, Bitch!

"Just what is wrong with you?" Tattletale asked.

"I ask myself that every day," I replied, putting my gun away.

"He's a retard," Bitch stated.

"No—well, yes. That's a part of it," Tattletale said. "And… wait no. That's pretty much it."

I crossed my arms and glared at her.

TT looked me over, and I just smiled at her pleasantly. After a moment, she told Bitch to stay put, and asked me to follow her.

I considered saying something smarmy, but for the first time in a very long while, I had a sudden attack of common sense and complied with a shut mouth. Bitch made a noncommittal grunt as I followed Tattletale outside. She closed the door behind us.

She turned to me on a dime, a suspicious look on her face. "You know who I am. You _really_ know who I am, don't you?"

I shrugged, pawing at a weed with my boot. "Might well be. You're not unlike an open book to me."

A look of hesitant understanding crossed her. "So you read about me?"

I shot her a sly smile. "I don't know where in this world I could read about you in any detail, _Sarah_."

Her eyes widened a fraction, then narrowed to slits. "Just who the fuck do you think you are?"

"Your friendly neighborhood Void Cowboy, of course!" I chirped.

Tattletale's lips pursed until they looked more like a thin scar than lips. "If you know my name, then you know the last person who called me that was—"

"Coil?" I offered, and she only looked more bitter. "Odd boss, that man. Curious power, as well."

After a moment, she said in an almost dumbfounded voice, "This is how other people feel when talking to me, isn't it?"

"Now so much of a retard now, am I?" I asked with a casual smile, crossing my arms.

She shook her head. "No, you still are. Have you ever thought about what would happen if Coil found you? And I _really_ don't want him getting his hands on someone who knows the future."

I merely grinned knowingly.

She seemed to catch on to something. "Wait. Just what are you smiling about?"

With a shrug, I thought back to Dinah. In a world where she knew about Coil, I wondered if it was distinctly possible to avoid her ever falling into his hands. And with the way my smile morphed during that thought, well… were I to become an Endbringer, I would be called the Smug-urg.

Tattletale crossed her arms. "You were just thinking something important, then something incredibly dumb and corny."

"Well, see, Coil _was_ going to get a precog under his thumb, but I made sure that wouldn't happen."

"How'd you manage that?"

"Easy," I said. "I warned her."

Tattletale blinked and gave me a blank look. "You warned her. A _precog_. Riiight." After a moment, she asked, "Tell me: what, exactly, _is_ Coil's power?"

"Aren't we forgetting something?" I countered. "Such as Lord Woofers."

She look unamused.

"Here's my deal, TT: you help me get Lord Woofers back, and I mean me, not Bitch, and I'll tell you what Coil's power is, in fairly exact detail." And to be sure she wouldn't pick it out of me, I thought about combing my hair and flexing my pecs in front of the mirror over and over and over again.

When I eventually returned to reality, Tattletale had left. I glanced around to see if she had just gone a safe distance from my glorious pecs, but no, no TT anywhere.

If I knew her modus operandi, she would contact me on her own time. I was fairly sure I was secure in just going home and waiting. I mean, it was that or go back to bugging Bitch, since after all she still had my bear mace. Buuut without TT there, I figured maybe that wasn't a very good idea.

So I squared my hat, turned around, my hands in my jeans, and wheeled off on my heelys. I would be home in no time.

But I as wheeled, I wondered just how I could explain the bruises and bite marks to my parents?

Wait, no. I could just tell them that I had been talking to a couple of girls and leave it there. They'd understand with no further questions.


	4. Chapter 4: Party By Myself

Chapter 4: Party by Myself

— 11 —

 _Bloop._

Yep. That was not!Skype acting up. Coulda sworn I was offline. Oh well.

I put down my weights and took a large drink of water from my oversized container before walking over to my computer. My biceps burned with the flame of a thousand suns, sort of like the feeling of binge drinking hot sauce, only if my stomach was located in my arms.

Rubbing myself down with a towel, I looked over the message.

It was from Tin_Mother, one of the big mods on Parahumans Online.

 _Dear XxVoid_CowboyxX,_

 _As per our conversation dated February 19th, 2009, I am offering you the badge of Slightly Less of a Dick Now. The condition for this was that you would go a full 3 months at some point without earning an infraction, something which at the time I considered marginally less likely than hell freezing over. I hope you continue to maintain a clean record._

 _Your friendly administrator,_

 _Tin_Mother_

 _P.S. I made a whole brand new badge just for you. Click the link to accept it. And I guess you can hide it from public view like a normal badge—if you just want to let all of my hard work go to waste, that is._

On the one hand, I felt kinda bad, since I was pretty sure that had I spent a wee bit more time online I might well have gathered me up a storm of infractions by now. On the other hand, it was sort of like I just got rewarded for doing nothing! That's the way life should work.

After a moment, I clicked that link and basked in the glory of my shiny new badge.

 _XxVoid_CowboyxX (Slightly Less of a Dick Now)_

Everything felt right in the word.

I sat back and wondered what the whole world would be like if it was like this all the time. Lord knows I might not have to work out as hard just to keep my rockin' bode.

A minute or so later I got a _bloop_ from Winged_One.

 _Winged_One: Congratulations!_

 _XxVoid_CowboyxX: What?_

 _Winged_One: Your new badge!_

 _XxVoid_CowboyxX: Are you stalking me?_

 _Winged_One: Haha_

 _Winged_One: Well not this time ;)_

She shot me a link to a PHO thread.

 **Topic: Congratulations XxVoid_CowboyxX**

 **In: Boards ► Official Announcements**

 **Tin_Mother (Original Poster) (Site Administrator) (Benevolent Overlord)**

Posted on August 13th, 2010:

 _Congratulations to long-time member XxVoid_CowboyxX for earning one of this site's very few unique/custom badges! He managed to go a whole three consecutive months without an infraction. For this frankly herculean task (as far as XxVoid_CowboyxX goes), he was been awarded the (Slightly Less of a Dick) badge, which he now wears with pride. As I type this, I am eating my hat._

 _In other news, Hell, Michigan froze over in what is no doubt one of the Simurgh's dastardly plots._

What followed were the rest of the site admins plus most all of the major mods congratulating me. After that began all the big-time important site users with their badges and tons of rep. The whole thing read like one big who's who of Parahumans Online.

I messaged Winged_One back.

 _XxVoid_CowboyxX: I don't know whether to be honored or mortified._

 _Winged_One: Oh, who are you kidding? You love the attention~_

 _XxVoid_CowboyxX: Yeah, I do…_

So I typed a short acceptance speech thanking everyone for being awesome, Tin_Mother for her work, and a special thanks to the Simurgh for giving me this chance.

I watched as my post was threadmarked and earned a shitton of likes.

Winged_One pinged me.

 _Winged_One: Hmm… I was actually planning to ask you something before this happened_

 _XxVoid_CowboyxX: Hmm?_

 _Winged_One: I don't suppose you feel like going out tonight? That is, outside, rather than staying inside and basking in your newfound internet fame._

 _Winged_One: I don't want to impose or anything or, um, that sorta thing, Cowboy. Just…_

 _XxVoid_CowboyxX: What did you have in mind?_

 _XxVoid_CowboyxX: Honestly I didn't even know my computer was turned on today._

 _Winged_One: !_

 _Winged_One: Well, there's a few kids from school having a party. It's sorta near you, I think, and I was wanting to go. But I don't really know anyone there._

 _Winged_One: I might have seen one or two of them before, but we've never really talked._

 _XxVoid_CowboyxX: You're kind of shy IRL, ain'tcha?_

 _Winged_One: Pfft._

 _Winged_One: I'm a total queen. Everyone wants my autograph. Even got my own fan club!_

 _XxVoid_CowboyxX: ..._

 _Winged_One: Okay, fine. I don't talk to people much._

 _XxVoid_CowboyxX: So, wanna meet the big, strong, sexeh guy you've been talking to these last few months?_

 _Winged_One: I'd rather just meet you, if that's alright._

 _Winged_One: Plus, I recall you only started working out big time around when we met, Mister Cowboy!_

 _XxVoid_CowboyxX: Hahaha look who has a better memory than a goldfish!_

 _Winged_One: ..._

 _XxVoid_CowboyxX: :)_

She sent me a house address link on Boggle Maps. It was basically a clone of Google Maps for this world, but with a shittier interface. Hey Wormverse, Windows XP was like a decade ago! Everything aside from PHO and a few other websites seemed just slightly out of date to me. Seriously, the Wormverse didn't even get Windows 95 until 2003. And even then—HOLY FUCKING SHIT!

Brockton Bay was in New Hampshire.

I sat back in my chair and just blinked.

Then I spun around for good measure.

I almost failed to notice a good few minutes had passed, and Winged_One had messaged me again.

 _Winged_One: Hello?_

I got my head back on and replied.

 _XxVoid_CowboyxX: Yeah, I'll be there. What time?_

 _Winged_One: 8pm_

I looked at the clock. It was just shy of noon.

[INDENT]XxVoid_CowboyxX: Perfect. Look for the guy who just screams /fit/izen Kane and is wearing a red bandana, k?

Winged_One: K![/INDENT]

I logged out of PHO and Not!Skype.

— 12 —

As the sun was heading down, I came upon the house. The dwelling appeared large, clearly belonging to someone with money to spare—really, it was a small mansion. Though by Brockton Bay standards, it didn't take much to be considered "relatively nice". I dressed myself in the same threads I'd worn to Bitch's, sans most of the weapons. I had a knife sheathed at my belt and a can of mace in a pocket, though. And for the party's tariff, a bottle of whiskey.

But more important, the house was at the bottom of a slightly incline. I wheeled down the hill on my heelys, like it weren't no thang. My leather duster danced in the wind.

Few people seemed to notice me roll up to the front lawn and casually stroll on into the house. None dared oppose me.

I squared my hat and opened the door.

The music hit me first: chill, more of a background noise than hardcore in-your-face. Also, it sucked.

I looked around and saw all my fellow teenagers milling, doing nothing at all. Sure, there were nice gents, hunnies, and everywhere in between, but they were are all so dead in the water.

It was up to me to fix this, starting with the music. I would become the hero this party need, if not the one it wanted.

And besides, I didn't want Winged_One to show up to a dead party if I could help it.

"Hey, you there," someone called out. He was tall, with red hair, and carried a very vague Australian accent. "Welcome to the party, mate. I know you?"

"No," I said, and handed him the bagged bottle of whiskey. "But you know our mutual friend Jack."

He cocked a brow, but nodded. "Make yourself at home. There's a table in the den where we're putting all the good stuff. Mind getting it there yourself? It's over that way." The boy offered me a fist and I bumped it. "Oh, and I like the hat." He pantomimed tipping a hat before going on.

The next track hit, and it was far more danceable. I reckoned there was no need to fix it. So, after looking around for a girl who matched my mental image of Winged_One (either a really shy teen or an morbidly obese dame with green hair), I decided it best to pass the time by wandering the house.

None of these people seemed familiar to me. I mean, granted, I hadn't really been socializing this summer. Plus, they didn't seem like the kind who went to Winslow High, or who I might have known from the neighborhood.

I rounded a corner and entered a sort of den in view of a kitchen. A comely black girl sat on the couch by herself, looking bored, her eyes lazily looking over the odd few people standing around and drinking. Her eyes flashed over to me.

"The fuck happened to your face?" she asked.

She was, of course, referring to my lingering bruise from Bitch's fist. With a shrug, I said, "Bitch."

The girl's eyes narrowed, her body tensing as if to jump off. "The fuck you call me?"

I rolled my eyes. "I was referring to Hellhound."

She settled back down onto the couch slightly.

"I picked up a stray dog last week," I said. "Turned out it belonged to her, and she was far from pleased."

" _Right_ ," she intoned. "Because getting beaten up by a supervillain is so cool."

"Mayhap. Hence why I tracked her down to her lair and challenged her to a rematch for the dog back. I reckon that's because I'm a Southerner more than anything. Where I'm from, if you disrespect me, I'm pretty much required to go whoop some respect into ya, cape or not."

Was that a ghost of respect in her eyes? She nodded and asked, "And so how'd that all go for you?"

Smiling, I replied, "Well, there's always round three."

The girl laughed.

Figuring nothing else to do, I sat down next to her, and she again looked offended.

"Who said you could sit next to me?" she asked in a voice of a total bitch.

"Jack Daniels," I said, holding up the bottle. I opened the bottle and took a swig.

She put her hand on the bottle and I let her drink herself. The girl gagged a bit but quickly tried put on a cool face.

"Not as good with liquor as you'd like, lass?" I asked.

"Yeah, I'm not your mom," she replied. As if to spite me, she took another clear gulp, and held herself this time. I snapped my fingers, got her attention, and took the bottle. I doubled up on her previous drink.

"You got a name?" I asked.

"Does it matter?"

I shook my head.

She took another drink. I noticed it was a lot less than she had the other times, though with more flourish, as if trying to convince me she was a big drinker. "And how you'd get suckered into a place like this?"

"I was supposed to meet a girl here. Don't know what she looks like, though."

She gave me a curious look. "How's that work?"

"Met online."

"You sure it's a girl?" she asked, passing me the bottle.

"Girls got a way of talking. Translates startlingly well into IMing," I replied, shaking the bottle and watching the liqueur dance around. "She was supposed to meet ol' Void Cowboy here, since she invited me."

The girl gave me a weird look. Then she burst out laughing. "'Void Cowboy'? _That's_ your name?"

I nodded.

"As in, 'slightly less of a dick now' Void Cowboy?"

"Yes, ma'am," I replied, overdoing my Southern drawl.

"Holy shit," she laughed. "Here I am drinking with a genuine celebrity."

"That so?"

"I use PHO," she replied with a shrug. "And links to the post about your new badge are now the official site banner, right under the name."

"Yeah?"

She elbowed me as she pulled out her phone and went to the PHO website. There it was, under the Parahumans Online official logo was a banner that read "Congratulations XxVoid_CowboyxX: Slightly Less of a Dick Now". She tapped the banner and it took us to the announcement page, which now had almost twenty pages of comments.

The girl slapped me on the back as she put the phone away. She was still laughing when a decidedly hot redhead showed up to the couch.

"Sophia! Did you make a new friend?" she asked with a smile, putting a hand on her hip. "I told you coming here wouldn't be a waste of time."

I blinked.

Sophia? The black girl was named Sophia, and she more than fit the image I'd had of Shadow Stalker, the borderline crazy parahuman obsessed with dominance.

That meant the comely redhead was Emma Barnes.

I was making nice with the girls would would ruin Taylor's life so hard that she would trigger, setting the whole book in motion. It took effort to not look dumb when Sophia spoke up.

"Oh, sit down and drink. You're in the presence of a legit _legend_."

Emma cocked a brow. "Care to explain?"

"Nope," Sophia said, shaking her head.

The redhead shrugged and eyed us both. There was hardly enough room on the couch, and she made do by squeezing in between us. It was a rather tight fit. Almost without thinking, I put an arm around her waist and set her up on my lap.

Emma got cozy, then reached for the Jack. After taking a drink (and shuddering), she asked, "So, mister legend, you got a name?"

"Greg Veder," I replied in full.

She spat out the Tennessee whiskey and scrambled off my lap almost like an epileptic hamster caught in the wind. Emma landed on the floor. "Wait, _what_?!"

Sophia burst out laughing.

"There's no way you're Greg Veder!" Emma accused, getting to her feet. Miraculously, she hadn't spilled my whiskey during the fall.

I took the bottle from her and chased a drink. "Too bad," I said, eying her up and down. "You're still the same Emma Barnes."

"But you're so… un-Greg!" Emma tried, almost uselessly.

"I'll say," Sophia added, taking the bottle from me.

The redhead looked to her friend, then to me, almost appraisingly.

"You know he got in a fistfight with a cape, right?" Sophia said, and drank some more. "Twice."

"Bullshit," she said.

"No, it's true alright," Sophia said, examining her nails. "And if he says he's Greg, then it's Greg. Although, it is sort of strange, y'know?"

Emma looked confused.

Sophia went on. "One day he's a dweeb, and the next he's walking around like a cowboy and sporting a huge bruise on his face like it's nothing. Not to mention talking to girls and _not_ being a total creep."

After a moment, Emma gave Sophia a slow, almost knowing nod.

"Something I'm missing, ladies?" I asked.

Sophia shot me a look. "It's not like it's hard to figure out, and that was before you said you were getting into fights with supervillains. Ain't that right, _Void Cowboy_?"

I cocked a brow but said nothing. Just what was she getting at?

Emma winked at me. "Don't worry, we won't tell anyone. But she's right; you want to learn some subtlety before school starts."

I offered her a puzzled look, but that quickly died when she sat back down on my lap. It took her a moment to get comfy again. She looked at me and offered an almost apologetic smile. "So, um. Hi?"

I grunted a "Howdy."

"Really take the whole thing seriously, huh?" Emma asked.

"Aye, say true and thankee, sai," I offered her.

The two girls exchanged a look. With a sigh and a smile, Emma said, "You know, I can totally see how this is still Greg. Least a little." She looked to me, made a little laughing noise, and reached out and took the whisky from Sophia. Emma took a good swig or two with a smile.

"Hey, Emma," Sophia said. "Whatever happened to that guy you were with before?"

Emma shrugged, examining the bottle. "I got bored. Told him to hold my beer. How long do you think he stands there before he figures out I'm not coming back?"

Sophia laughed. "Right. Well. Gonna go get some beer, now that you reminded me."

Emma frowned. "Why?"

"Liquor before beer, you're in the clear," I said. "Beer before liquor, never been sicker."

Emma suddenly looked at the bottle in her hands and took on a deeply concerned expression.

Sophia stood up and slapped her girlfriend on the back. "Yeah, he's got it. You two have fun while I go find a keg, okay?" She winked. "Promise to bring you something back." And with that, she walked off into the kitchen, and disappeared in a group of partygoers.

"Y'know," I said, " the other seat's open if you want it."

Emma looked at me with a pout. "Tired of me already? And I just got comfy."

"It's more that I'm actually here to meet a friend of mine, and I doubt she'd be pleased to see me with another girl on my lap."

"She's not here now though, is she?" Emma asked with a conspiratorial smile.

I looked around as if to make a point.

Her smile didn't die. "So, who even is this other girl you're waiting for? She's gotta be pretty special to make you say no to this." Emma wiggled around on my lap.

With a grin, I said, "Now you're just _trying_ to get me in trouble."

"So what if I am?" she asked with a shrug. "Maybe she's not even coming." Emma looked around the room, as if making sure no one could hear her. "I can't see many guys giving up a girl on their lap now for one who might show up later. I won't tell, and Sophia can keep a secret." She winked.

I gave her a long, even look. "Got you a phone and a number?" The way I saw it, if she really was into me, I won. If not, well, I had her number, and could use that to no end of evil. After all, with a phone number, I could find her address. And on an unrelated matter, so could a molotov cocktail.

Emma smiled and pulled out a smartphone with a very fluffy case. We exchanged numbers, and I dialed her just to make sure it was the real McCoy. She tapped accept and put it up to her ear. "Hi, you've reached the phone of Emma Barnes. I can't pick up right now because I'm currently giving a lapdance to some random guy at a party. Please leave your message after the—"

A harsh wail rose up from the distance, a loud "wa" sound like a distorted baby's cry. Sirens. The smile on Emma's face faded as she slowly lowered the phone, whatever words she had dying in her throat.

For a moment, I was nine years old again, at the outskirts of St. Paul/Minneapolis, listening to the roaring sirens as I eyed a forming tornado ready to destroy Minnesota's biggest urban centers. These were the exact same sound, but they meant something totally different. Something worse than a scary tornado that, in the end, did no damage to the Twin Cities.

These sirens meant Endbringer, and everyone knew it.

* * *

a/n: Man, formatting things on this site is really frustrating. There's no support for indents and other tricks I use o distinguish texts and PHO posts from regular words. I just have to abuse the poor italics.


	5. Chapter 5: No Turning Back

Chapter 5: No Turning Back

— 13 —

Calm.

Amidst the chorus of rising voices, it struck me as an odd feeling. While sure, I could and did get worked up, sometimes it was just really hard to stir me into a frenzy. Maybe it had something to do with the buzz I was undergoing. Thank you, whiskey.

"The timing isn't right, this shouldn't be happening!" someone yelled out.

"Maybe it's a false alarm?"

"It's _never_ a false alarm!"

And of course, there was the always helpful, "Everybody stay calm!"—of course shouted in the voice of a maniac.

It was like watching a herd of elephants encountering a mouse, then debating if it really was a mouse, then all collectively have a seizure and flailing off towards the nearest doorway.

All the while, as people grabbed food and drinks, and stampeded every which way, Emma still sat on my lap. She had the look of a deer in the headlights, almost immobilized. All she did was put a bit of her hair in her mouth and chew.

"Emma," I said in a firm voice, and she didn't reply.

I gave her a shake and said, "You know which way to the shelters, yeah?"

At length, she looked at me with a blank face. "I'm not scared," she mumbled.

Something was very wrong with Emma.

All around us, people rushed past, sirens blared. The house emptied as the frenzied mass of inebriated teenagers all tried to escape first.

I put my hands on her shoulders and shook her again, perhaps a little too hard. Her expression changed, her eyes seeming to ask "what do we do" as she continued to chew on her hair.

With a push, I forced her off my lap. I took her hand and pulled her off the couch with me. Emma looked around, as if she were a newborn foal seeing the world for the first time, and learning just how horrible it all was. A modicum of sense seemed to hit her as she seized my hand hard, refusing to ease up.

"We've got to follow everyone," I said. "They know the way to the shelters."

In reality, I had no idea if that was true or not. I vaguely recalled reading about Endbringer drills sort of like hurricane or tornado drills over in Florida. But even those had mostly been limited to schools; home never had a "what do if a Kaiju attacks" drill. People around here had to have known where to go, right?

I tugged on her hand, and she came along with me, trailing just behind.

The absurdity of the situation hit me at once. Here I was, some guy from a different universe, helping out a genuinely nasty piece of work. Were it not for this girl, and for Sophia as well, Taylor wouldn't have triggered.

But, again, here I was, trying to help her on the grounds that I just _had_ to.

"This shouldn't be happening," Emma said in a quiet voice. "Not here. Not now." Her voice came out in little stammers as I lead her through the house. I had no idea where Sophia was, but she was a sociopath and a cape; she could handle herself.

She hesitated a bit, and I had to tug her hard to get her to quicken her pace. "I saw it on the news," Emma said. "Leviathan attacked somewhere three weeks ago. This has to be some kind of mistake."

"That's nice," I said, entering out onto the front lawn. I could see all the lights on in the city. Brockton Bay was, in its own way, a pretty city. But with the honking of horns, the shouts of people both near and far, and all the families leaving their houses in the early night, I couldn't say I wanted a post card.

From here, I could see spotlights dancing through the air, as if trying to find something. It looked like what I imagined Normandy did the night before D-Day. Only instead of Allied paratroopers, it was a force of unstoppable supernatural destruction.

And if people were looking for a flying Endbringer, then unless Leviathan finally got that hoverboard he's been wanting for Christmas, it had to be the Simurgh.

"Emma," I said, turning to her. She somehow squeezed my hand even tighter. The girl wasn't very strong, but that grip was iron. "Do you know where your family is? Do you know which shelter they'd go to?"

She looked at me.

"Emma!"

"Yeah," she said, as if she wasn't all there. "I do."

"Can you get there?"

Emma grit her teeth and looked around.

"Void Cowboy!" Sophia called out. I turned to see her hopping the rails and landing on the house's deck. Emma immediately let go of my hand "Where the fuck did you run off—" She seemed to notice Emma there, and have the girl a nod. "Emma, you okay?" she asked.

"She's doing well, all things considered," I lied. "Was trying to tell me which way to the nearest shelter."

Sophia nodded. "Good. Knew you were a survivor, girl. There's just one problem with that."

"Which is?" I asked.

She held up her phone. It was a PHO warning. "Simurgh Hovering Over Brockton Bay". It was the new banner, having replaced the one about my new badge. For some reason, that really bothered me.

"Don't find shelter," Sophia said. "You want to just get the hell out of the city."

"But people are going to shelters," I said. "They'll be sitting ducks for the Simurgh."

"Every TV is saying Simurgh. Cops on duty know it too by now. If you're dumb enough to get to a shelter anyhow, you deserve what happens to you."

I nodded, more to end that line of discussion than anything else.

"What about you?" Emma asked her friend. "There's nothing you can do…"

Sophia all but spat on the ground in disgust. "We can still help. Do search and rescue. Help move people. This is our _home_ ," she said. Then, to me: "And you're going to help me, or I'll never forgive you."

"Beg pardon?" I asked.

"Don't play dumb, Void Cowboy. You and I both know what you are. You're a cape, however new—I get that, but I'm not letting you chicken out and run." There was a serious edge to her voice, something hostile, easily willing to tear out my throat. After a second, she added, "Just what can you do, anyhow?"

I blinked. "Um, I can make napalm and some things. Modified my boots, too. Oh, and if it helps, I am a crack shot with a gun."

"Tinker. Figures," she said with a roll of the eyes.

"I never said—"

"Look, I don't want to hear it," she interjected. "Do you need your gear?"

I shook my head. "Nothing I build would hurt the Simurgh."

Sophia nodded, then hesitated for a brief moment, looking at me. "In case you haven't figured it out by now—"

I held up a hand. "I know."

Seemingly out of nowhere, she pulled out a hockey mask. It had been decorated a bit with some custom paint. The theme of black and dark purple with arrowheads seemed to suit her very well. Sophia put on the mask.

"Name's Shadow Stalker," she said through the mask. She had no proper costume, just the mask. But then again, if what I knew was correct, at this point she was still a lone vigilante. It wouldn't be until she seriously hurt someone that she would be drafted into the Wards as a probationary member.

I grabbed my bandana and hitched it up from my neck to around my face. It covered everything below my eyes. "And I, lil' lady, am Void Cowboy. Nice to meet ya, say true and thankee." I looked to Emma. "Lass, get outta Dodge, ya hear?"

Emma nodded. She hesitated there for a moment, so to help, I put my hand on the small of her back and gave her a push. Emma was soon sprinting down the street, disappearing into the growing mess of evacuees.

I looked to Shadow Stalker. "So. We gonna help folks run, or—"

"No. We head to the staging grounds," she said.

I recalled that from Worm. I even knew where it was: the nondescript six-story building near the beach with the PRT logo on it. It was just one of the sights I'd seen on one of my many walks around the city to check things out. "Gotcha."

I cast a look out at the sky. Though it might have been corny, as I looked up, I wondered what was up there—aside from the eldritch horror from beyond time and space, that is. Did God exist here? Or was there only those giant space worm thingies that I suspected had something to do with powers? Back home I had been a churchgoing man; I was too much of a Southerner to be anything but.

Though I doubted it would do anything at all, even in a world where people flew around and shit like Endbringer attacks happened, I offered a little prayer for the people I knew. Jogging alongside Shadow Stalker, I gave kindly words for Jerry and his wife, who had been great parents to me in this world. I hoped Taylor was okay, since I had yet to find her and still needed to stalk the girl.

And most of all, I hoped Lord Woofers the Indomitable was continuing to be indomitable, even in doggy jail. Let no dog make him their bitch.

— 14 —

If I had any doubts about this being the place, the mass of uniformed and armed PRT troopers dispelled them. They looked far more intimidating than I had imagined: these men wore kevlar and faceless helmets, and carried firearms or what looked like containment foam sprayers. PRT vans with their foam turrets stood guard as troopers maintained the building's otherwise empty parking lot and entrance.

Floodlights kept the front of the building almost blindingly bright. Despite all the light, I didn't see anyone arriving. Were they all inside? Maybe this wasn't the place. Maybe… no, this had to be it. I recalled reading how this was _the_ Endbringer staging ground in Brockton Bay. I didn't know why, but in my head I imaged there had been three of them: for Leviathan, one by the water; for Behemoth, one next to the local volcano; and for Simurgh, one by the insane asylum/nuclear power plant.

Perched by the edge of the lot and facing the ocean stood a huge mechanical beast. With those rocket pods resting on its shoulder plus the jet engine, it had to have been Dragon. Or at least, one of her suits.

I felt really out of place just jogging alongside Shadow Stalker up to the lot.

I wasn't a cape. Would never be. I was only here because… actually, I had no real explanation for that. Probably because I was afraid that Shadow Stalker would kill me if she found out I wasn't a cape, knew her secret identity, _and_ let Emma sit on my lap.

Compared to facing her torment for years on end, what was a little fight against a thing who could twist my very destiny itself?

As I got closer, I noticed a small whack of capes were just standing outside in the parking lot, milling around. Some of them were talking, some were brooding, a few were staring out at the sea, and one was getting drunk. You go, party cape! I could see them wearing those Dragon-built armbands. I suspected most were inside the building, but I wondered why—

"Fuck," Shadow Stalker spat. "I think we missed the briefing."

"How can you tell?" I asked.

"Because no one is arriving anymore. That means they start briefing," she said in an annoyed voice.

"Hey!" I replied. "Not my fault. Who could have predicted that accidentally crashing into a pet store would unleash a torrent of bunnies?"

"You just _had_ to heely down the hill."

"Yes," I replied. "These things grant me a mover rating of at least six!"

Shadow Stalker just stared at me.

We approached the PRT troopers standing guard, and they motioned us on in.

Before we moved on, one of the PRT officers held us a pair of armbands. "You know what these are?" he asked in a strong Brooklyn accent, a serious look on his face.

Dragon armbands, plus suicide charge due to the Simurgh.

"Once you put it on," I said, meeting his eye, "there's no turning back."

The PRT trooper nodded.

Shadow Stalker gave me a confused look as I reached up to take mine—or at least I think she did. It was hard to tell through her hockey mask. However, she turned to the PRT officer and shook her head.

The officer gave her the rundown of how to use it, plus which capes to follow depending on our group.

As they talked, I looked at my armband. If I got incapacitated for too long, it would explode, taking me with it. And there was no way to take it off.

Just the frak was I doing? This was the _Simurgh_ , and here I was, an ersatz gunslinger in a strange world, without even a gun to back me up. A mortal whose only advantage was some odd bits of half-remembered knowledge that became more useless by the day.

Yet a single line kept repeating through my mind, a quiet reminder that wouldn't die.

 _Death, but not for you, Gunslinger._

It was like a mantra, a single determined echo of the Man in Black. Say thankee, sai.

I really should see if Stephen King wrote _The Dark Tower_ in this universe.

There was no going back.

I was doing this thing.

 _Death, but not for you, Gunslinger._

I put on the armband. The sound it made as I cinched it to my wrist was final, the first reminder that there was no turning back now. I gave it a tug to make sure.

 _Alea iacta est_. The die is cast.

"And one last thing," the guard finished. "If you get incapacitated, or exposed to the Scream for too long, they explode and kill you. Once you put it on…"

"There's no turning back," Shadow Stalker finished in a quiet voice. She turned to me. "You knew about this?"

"Don't tell me you're gonna back out now," I said with a smile.

"I… no, of course not," she replied. She reached out and took her armband. Shadow Stalker gave it a good long look.

For a moment, it occurred to me that most every cape here must have done this. Each one took time to think it over, look badass, and heroically put it on. The idea of a hundred or more caps brooding darkly in one place made it hard not to laugh.

I supposed that's what it meant to be in the staging grounds before an Endbringer fight. And it was my job to put on a smile and remind everyone that angsting was for losers.

Shadow Stalker put the armband on and tightened it into place.

"Now then," I said as cheerily as I could. "To find someone who knows what the hell's going on."

I stepped around the guards, Shadow Stalker following close behind. We strode across the parking lot and walked through the doors into the building.

— 15 —

The building opened up into a huge lobby that was more like some janky auditorium than anything else. Maybe it was. A fair few widescreen televisions displayed information on the Simurgh. I read off the huge one on the side of the room—distance from Brockton Bay, elevation, movement speed (zero), and if she was singing (no), amongst other things.

Far more capes meandered around here, many of them in cliques that, if I had to guess, had something to do with hero groups. But being that we were late and had no idea who was who, well… Shadow Stalker and I just stood there by the doors stupidly.

Only, the more I looked, the less it looked like the Endbringer squads. It looked more like a random assortment of capes, hero and villain, standing out and talking. Or else—

"Oh fuck me—Void Cowboy?" a girl said.

I turned my head and saw Tattletale standing there, alongside Bitch and two guys I had to assume were Regent and Grue. For her part, Tattletale had on a look like she'd just shown up to meet an online date in person and it turned out her date was, in fact, merely three dwarfs in a trenchcoat.

"Hey, retard," Bitch said with a grunt.

"Bitch," I replied, giving her a curt nod.

Regent and Grue exchanged a look and shrugged.

"Shadow Stalker," I said, "these are the Undersiders. If any of them try to touch you, you need to scream and find an adult, okay?"

She looked at me, then to the teen supervillains. "Um, hi?" Shadow Stalker leaned towards me and whispered, "Why are you friends with a team of _villains_?"

Tattletale uttered a low choking noise. " _Friends_? Sorry, but the first and only time we met, Bitch beat him up, and I put a gun to his head."

"Yeah," I replied, "I do got me a way with women. You know that one show, Dog Whisperer?"

Of all people, it was Regent who replied. "Of course. It's about the only TV Bitch watches." He didn't quite sound like I had imagined him. Then again, no one did—though I reckoned that had something to do with me listening to the audiobooks and never reading Worm proper. "She makes us stop playing games or whatever to watch new episodes live."

Bitch glared at him, as if he had revealed her most private secret. I could imagine that Regent was going to find all of his left shoes chewed up beyond use by tomorrow morning.

"Yeah," I replied, giving him a nod. "I'm like that, 'cept for girls. Only _I_ speak their secret language."

"Too bad no one can understand the secret language of Void Cowboy," Tattletale groused.

I opened my mouth to reply, but Shadow Stalker interrupted me. "Hey. When are we gonna fight the Simurgh? Everyone's just standing around."

"Nobody knows," Tattletale replied. "Alexandria and some other thinkers are all in a room figuring out whether to attack or not."

"Why aren't you there with her?" I asked.

She grit her teeth. "Wasn't invited."

"There there, TT," I said, reach out and patting her on the shoulder.

She slapped my hand away. "Don't touch me, Cowboy."

"So how come you weren't invited?"

The blonde looked me over. "They didn't want me."

Again, I frowned and gave her a sympathetic noise. "Well I want you. Or at least, I want to know who does your hair. It's so bouncy. How do you keep it so nice after riding on Bitch's dogs?"

"Oh, um. I use this conditioner called Ven. Plus, I know a guy downtown—super gay—but a genius with hair." Tattletale blinked. "Wait, no. What am I doing? Don't distract me!"

I gave her an innocent shrug.

Regent asked, "Hey, can I have his number?"

"But you're not gay," Grue said. His voice was deep and strong.

"Yeah, but…" Regent ran a hand wistfully through his hair.

"I second Regent's request," I said.

"Do you even have long hair under that hat?" Grue asked.

Regent shot me an appraising look, slowly nodding.

"Hey," I said, "if we can get her stylist out of her, let's you and me go there together. No homo."

"Right," Regent replied, taking a step towards me. "It's not gay if the balls don't touch."

"Preach, brotha," I replied, and put a hand on his shoulder.

He and I looked at each other and nodded. We kept nodding, further and further exaggerating the action with each motion, until Tattletale moved between us and pushed us apart. But by then, we'd been flailing around our noggins like broken bobbleheads.

"Okay, that's enough," she said. "I can't take this much homoerotic subtext in any one sitting." She gave me a pointed look. "And besides, Void Cowboy, I need to talk to you for a minute."

"Wait, what?" I tried as Tattletale put a vice-like grip on my shoulder and dragged me away. "Regent, no!" I cried out in a low voice, reading out a hand to the city's most powerful master.

Regent reached out to me too, waving his fingers. "We'll always have the staging ground!"

I turned around and went along to wherever Tattletale was leading me. But not before hearing Shadow Stalker saying, "So… what's it like having only one other sane person on the team?"

Grue grunted. "I'll let you know when I find out."

— 16 —

Tattletale walked me over to a far corner of a room, next to one of the smaller TVs. While there room was littered with televisions, this once had around it the smallest crowds. There were others here, some of whom I could hazard identities for. That one was Miss Militia, and the little girl with her must have been Vista. I saw a Power Girl ripoff that had to be Glory Girl next to a boy in sleek medieval-looking power armor. Gallant was his name, Glory's boyfriend, and he was slated to die in the Leviathan attack.

There was a tall man nearby too who looked a bit like Sauron. Kaiser? He was talking in a low, hushed voice to a cape whose ID was beyond me, but who was likely in the Empire. I wondered if they knew the story of Jerry "Aryan vs. Predator" Veder.

Still, for all the people, there was enough chatter to serve as white background noise. And none of them took any particular note of us.

The television and its display struck me as the most interesting thing here. Information about the Simurgh dominated the bottom of the screen, rolling past at a brisk pace.

But the video feed itself?

The Simurgh.

Whatever cameras were recording here amped up the low light vision, and I got as clear of an image of her as I could have wanted.

White wings, scores of them. A lithe, decidedly feminine body. Her face so blank and pristine it might well have been a porcelain mask of unparalleled quality. And she was just floating there, almost motionless. Three of her larger wings covered her otherwise naked body. How tall was she again? It was hard to tell with no frame of reference, harder still when I couldn't remember from the Travelers' arc. I knew her to be a giant, but the way she carried herself here made her seem so small and insignificant before the cameras.

Her eyes were pure gray, a single solid mass of monocolor. There was no way to tell if they moved, not with the lighting and the lack of color, but… it felt as if she was staring at _me_.

"She looks different up close, huh?" Tattletale asked in a low voice, snapping me out of my fixation.

"What now?" I stammered.

"The Simurgh. You were staring at her."

"Yeah, I…" I rubbed the back of my head, looking around to the other capes. "I've never seen her before, not like this."

"And she's not singing," I added. "Nothing bad happens until she sings, right?"

"We hope," Tattletale replied.

"Shouldn't we be attacking her? Driving her off just in case?"

She shook her head, crossing her arms. "She's out of range for most us to really do anything against her. And from what we know, I _think_ we're out of range of her scream. I don't think you realize just how magnified that video is."

"Most of us? Who _can_ hurt her out there?"

Tattletale pursed her lips in thought. "The Triumvirate and a few Alexandria packages could try to swat her out of the sky, but that's it. They'd have no backup from capes on the ground. And if those three could handle an Endbringer on their own, we wouldn't need all this," she finished, gesturing to the assembled capes.

"Which is why we're all sitting here with our collective thumbs up our asses. Why they still have Alexandria and all our best thinkers in a room trying to figure out what to make of this."

"Oh no, they don't have _all_ our best thinkers." The look she gave me was downright predatory. The classic Tattletale vulpine grin. She looked smug as fuck right now in a way that made me almost want to smack her.

"You knew my name—my _real_ name," Tattletale said, almost a little giddy. "You knew the other Undersiders too. And I _think_ you know something about this."

I shook my head. "I would have remembered if the Simurgh attacked Brockton Bay. That's kind of important."

Tattletale moved in closer to me. She took my hand in hers and looked me in the eye. "You know a lot of things. Give me a clue—just one clue—and I can figure this out. My power's good, but it's useless if I've got nothing to work with."

I searched my head for any knowledge I had about the Simurgh. Anything that might help. But truth be told, there wasn't a damned thing. At least, nothing more than what was mentioned during the Travelers arc. The only Endbringer I had any particular knowledge of was the one who had attacked Brockton Bay in the story, Leviathan.

At length, she sighed, letting go of my hand. "So, you don't know anything about the Simurgh. But... you do know about the other Endbringers?" She paused for a moment, looking me over. "You know about Behemoth? No. Leviathan?"

"Nothing more than you'd find out just from looking at him up close," I told her. "And even then, most of the details are fuzzy."

Her expression went from sympathetic to something harder, more serious "Bullshit. You know something. Something big."

"I… don't think I should say," I said, biting my lip. The more I revealed, the less powerful my knowledge of Worm, such that it was, would be. In a sense, it was a one time power.

Tattletale laughed, almost mockingly. "You know something about the Endbringers, and you're going to keep it secret because sharing it _might be a bad idea_. That didn't stop you from tracking Bitch down to her hideout. It sure as hell didn't stop you from _coming here_."

I flinched at bit. "It's not… these are bad ideas for entirely separate reasons." It sounded so stupid coming out of my mouth, like I clearly was struggling to come up with reasons. And if I knew it, she knew it.

"Look, the others are probably wondering where we are and what we're doing by now," I replied weakly, turning on my heelys.

Tattletale grabbed my arm and spun me back around. "No," she said, harsh and with a final edge thereto. "I'm not letting you get away that easily."

"And if I still don't say, then what? Remember the truce?" I countered. "You can't touch me."

"But you can't just walk away either," she insisted. "Underneath it all, you actually care about people. Not a lot, but more than you think. And are you really sure you could live with yourself just keeping in something this big? What's so bad that telling would be a mistake?"

I swallowed. Tattletale had a point. The frak did I gain through silence? I mean, aside from the belligerent satisfaction of winning this fight out of sheer stubbornness, not much.

Unless Taylor would somehow die if I warned people of Leviathan, it wouldn't screw up any master plan, I didn't think.

What if Gallant survived because he knew to prepare for Leviathan? Maybe then, Glory Girl wouldn't be fucked in the head, wouldn't put herself in the danger that led to her near death at Crawler's hands. She'd never be institutionalized, and Panacea wouldn't break down and request to be sent to the Birdcage.

There'd be no Weld coming down to lead the local Wards, either. I didn't know if that meant anything, but it was _something_ to consider. Perhaps he'd never learn of Cauldron's involvement with him, and just stay in the Wards?

In fact, the more I thought about it, the more it occurred to me: Worm canon _sucked_ for everyone involved. Everyone suffered. Everyone hurt. No one was better for having lived it all. I didn't want to go through that, not if I could at all help it and have a good time doing it.

And besides, when I thought about everything, it was a little late to be worrying about butterflies.

I took a deep breath. "You want the truth?"

For some reason, I couldn't bear the thought of seeing Tattletale's face when she learned that her city, her _home_ , was fucked, that it would turn into a post-apocalyptic wasteland semi-submerged beneath salt, filth, and blood. The only thing I could tell was my boots. Heelys were renowned for their trustworthiness.

Almost without thinking, I put a hand on my armband. I felt the screen, the tinkertech metals that kept it locked to my arm. I gave it a heft, feeling the weight of the explosive inside. This was another choice. And once I made it, there would be no turning back.

And if Tattletale would know, then everyone had to know. With a shaky finger, I pressed the communicate button on the armband. Because if you're gonna play, you might as well bet big.

 _Alea denuo iacta est_. The die once more is cast.

"Mid-early next year," I began, straining to keep my voice steady, "May to be precise, Leviathan will attack Brockton Bay. Scion shows up, eventually. But not before we lose dozens of capes. Gallant, Aegis, Kaiser, Dauntless, some guy named Chubster, most of Bitch's dogs, much of the Empire, Manpower, Shielder, amongst others." I considered who else I could remember.

"If you count what happens afterwards," I continued, my voice becoming clearer, gaining strength, "then we also lose Glory Girl, Panacea, Armsmaster, Battery, and Myrddin. And those are just the ones off the top of my head."

I considered my words. How much could, or even _should_ , I tell them? "I could go on. Things that happen after. Even more—"

"Void Cowboy," Tattletale said in a quiet voice, putting a hand on my shoulder.

I took my finger off the communicate button and looked up at her, almost startled.

"That's enough."

The whole room had fallen silent, and it was if all eyes were upon me. I took a breath and stood up a little straighter. I had made the choice. I had told the world, or at least all present. And I would live with that choice.

I looked at all the capes whom I had named as dead. Gallant was right there, staring at me alongside his girlfriend, the girl doomed to become nothing more than a pile of mismatched limbs. Kaiser too. The Empire's leader was giving me a look that was… what? Calculating?

Vista's little eyes were so wide, like she had just been told today was a surprise tooth pulling. Miss Militia had this stern look on her face, like she wouldn't hesitate to put a bullet through eyes if I was just fucking around.

I heard a footstep and spun around. There was Sophia. Shadow Stalker. The girl who had led me here.

It was impossible to determine what her face was like now under the mask, but her voice sounded half scared, half challenging. "Hey. Void Cowboy. Is what you said… is that true?"

I swallowed and looked around. Everyone was watching. Everyone waiting. Hardly anyone so much as breathed.

"Yeah," I said. "It is."

The words hung in the air like gravity was taking the day off.

Far behind Sophia, I saw movement on the big TV. It wasn't the cameras moving, it was the Endbringer herself.

The Simurgh raised a hand and waved.

Then she flew off. Just ascended up, as if she had to go home, for her people needed her. I watched her form slowly vanish into the distance, leaving behind nothing but a clear, quiet night sky.


	6. Chapter 6: Fallout

Chapter 6: Fallout

— 17 —

Silence.

Everyone either stared at the TVs, looked at friends, or else had almost blank expressions on their faces. Then there were those whose full attention was on me. Glory Girl, Gallant, Kaiser, Vista and Miss Militia stood out. They were the closest to me, and most of them I had named as being dead a year hence.

At last, it was Miss Militia who broke the silence. The strange green weapon in her hands formed into the shape of some sort of pistol, and she seemed to carefully be aiming it away from me. "I don't think I've seen you around before. Are you a new cape?"

I blinked. "I, uh, sorta kinda? Name's Void Cowboy. Please t' meet ya, ma'am."

"Void Cowboy?" Kaiser asked. "As in—"

"'Slight Less of a Dick Now' Void Cowboy," I finished. "Yeah, that's me, sir."

That got a few, awkward laughs from around the room. Kaiser himself offer a small chuckle. "At least you're not a complete unknown, if so many are willing to vouch for your character. Tell me, Void Cowboy. Are you a local?"

Tattletale put a hand on my shoulder. "You don't have to answer that."

"Oh, it's no use, TT. They're bound to find out eventually." I looked back to the head honcho of the biggest group of Neo-Nazis outside of the Aryan Brotherhood back home. "Yessir. Despite the accent, I call this place my home. It's why I'm here, after a sense."

He smiled warmly. "And you're with…?" The man indicated Tattletale.

"Tattletale," she said with a fair whack of confidence, wearing that smile of hers. I wonder how many times she'd fantasized about being the center of attention of so many prominent capes. "With the Undersiders." She tilted her head towards Grue, who had walked over with the rest of his group. He gave her a wave, Regent nodded, and Bitch grunted.

"I'd like to think we're on good terms," I said. "But other than that? Not really, no."

"Ah," Kaiser said in a cool voice. "So with her, then?" And at this he gave a slight tilt of the head towards Sophia, who by now was just a couple of steps to my side, facing him.

"Shadow Stalker," she stated, glaring at the man. "And I work alone."

"Of course," he said in an even tone, before returning his gaze to me. "Perhaps—"

A man in midnight blue power armor stormed onto the scene. Armsmaster. I had seen his mug, his logo, and interviews ever since I arrived here. From the way I could see the lower half of his face, I could tell he was less than pleased that I existed.

"You need to tell me what you meant by 'We lost Armsmaster'," he demanded.

Kaiser, for his part, looked less than amused to have our conversation interrupted. But he said nothing, only stood there and watched us.

Tattletale moved from the corner of my eye. She looked to Armsmaster, then to me, a grin creeping up onto her face. "Go on then, Cowboy. Tell everyone all about how the _brave_ leader of the Brockton Bay Protectorate laid down his life in the fight against Leviathan."

"Whatever happened to 'You don't have to answer that'?" I replied, and she shrugged.

That grin was still on her face, same as it ever was. "Yeah, well, sometimes I can't help myself. Besides, this is just too good."

"Hey," I retorted. "I thought only I was supposed to be getting a weird sense of schadenfreude from this."

Tattletale gave me an innocent shrug.

"Schadenfreude," Armsmaster repeated flatly.

Kaiser spoke up. "It is that particularly German sense of pleasure you get from the suffering and misfortune of others, especially those you're not fond of."

"Right. Like you," I said to Armsmaster. "And by that way, gimme back the dog you stole!"

Armsmaster started. "Excuse me?"

"Yeah. Puppy Arson, the dog you arrested for setting fire to the jewelry store."

"Stop renaming him!" Bitch called out.

"I didn't," I told her. "That's his cape name. I mean, I _could_ give out his civilian identity, but that's a big no-no at a time and place like this."

" _That_ was your dog?" Armsmaster asked.

I nodded.

"This puppy of yours is currently facing charges of arson, resisting arrest, and urinating in public," he said in an almost smug tone befitting Tattletale more than him. "If you ever want to see him again, I suggest you consider your next actions carefully."

People in the crowd of capes murmured. "Holy shit, Armsmaster stole a puppy!"

"And he's holding it hostage!"

Members of the crowd had taken out their phones and were no doubt recording this. Regent was one of them. You go, Alec.

Armsmaster looked around. "I—no, that's not what I meant."

"This court of public opinion is now in session," I said. "All who think Armsmaster is a dick, raise your hands."

I rose my hand. A wall of capes joined me. Most of the early voters were villains, but a great whack of them were heroes, too. Even Vista raised her hand.

Miss Militia hissed something at the little heroine.

"What?" she asked. "He stole a puppy."

Miss Militia glared, but said nothing more.

"And," I continued, lowering my hand, "all in favor of saying that Armsmaster is actually a pretty okay guy once you get to know him?"

No one really raised their hands. There was a lot of awkward shuffling.

"Et tu, Dragon?" Armsmaster asked in a bitter voice.

"I'd raise a hand," a female voice said from his armband, "but then my suit would fall over. Though," she added with a modicum of hesitation, "I think maybe you should give the dog back."

The man glanced around at the crowd before looking back to me. There was an almost imperceptible slump to his posture. He visibly sighed and seemed like he was about to say something, only to stop, stand up a bit taller, and look past me.

I followed his eyes to see a man in a tight blue costumed adorned with white lightning designs. Legend, a man whose very image adorned countless posters and whose likeness was a favorite action figure of kids. And he was one of the few genuinely nice capes out there. I presumed this meant he would die horribly at some point in Worm, but that was beyond the scope of what I'd read.

"The Simurgh is well and truly gone," he said, addressing the whole crowd. "She is back up in the upper atmospheres, and by all measurements, has gone dormant once more." Legend paused to gauge the crowd. "I would like to thank everyone who came to respond today, and am only too glad that no battle was needed."

His words sounded final. No one moved, however.

Legend continued. "Now is not the time for panic, anger, or wild accusations regarding what the young precog here has said. If anything, that's just what the Simurgh would want. Rest assured, we, the Protectorate, will do the reasonable thing and investigate these claims to the fullest extent of our abilities. Of course, the truce shall be respected, and Void Cowboy will be free to come with us or refuse as he so chooses."

Smooth. Shifting the focus and possible blame back onto me.

"Now, it's late and I'm sure many of you want to return to your families or, perhaps more to the point, to bed. I implore you to do so. As of now, the armbands should be removable, and can be returned on your way out. Have a good night, and once again, thank you for coming."

He sounded final, and indeed he said nothing more.

After a moment, someone opened the front doors and slipped away. It took almost half a minute for life to return to the crowd. Teleporters used their powers, and small groups of people disappeared in flashes. Others still just ambled on out through either the front door or down a hallway to some side door.

With all the capes walking past me, I almost felt lost in a human river. I lost sight of Legend and Armsmaster. Even Shadow Stalker seemed to have vanished into the crowd.

"Hey, Shadow Stalker," I called out. "Where'd you go?"

"Gee," Tattletale said, showing up almost out of nowhere, "it's almost like Shadow Stalker isn't the greatest team player. Or the warmest and fuzziest of friends."

"Right, she works alone," I replied. "Looks like I have to find somebody else to knock beers back with after these things."

She took on a hard expression. "Speaking of which, as fun as this has been, you need to get out of here. _Now_."

"But my dog—Puppy Arson!"

She rolled her eyes. The girl looked like she were trying to explain to a five year old why it wasn't a good idea to pour gasoline down an anthill. "You know just enough to be dangerous and not enough to be useful to anyone except _maybe_ the Protectorate's enemies. I don't have a good feeling about your chances of walking away if you go in for a 'friendly interview' with the good guys right now."

I glanced back in Armsmaster's direction, but I still couldn't see him. My attention turned back to Tattletale. "A couple minutes ago you were telling me I had to do the right thing and say something."

"Uh-huh," she all but chirped. "And a couple minutes ago we had an Endbringer over our heads and all I could tell was that you knew something about them. Plus," she added through gritted teeth, "I don't recall asking you to advertise it to the whole world."

"Your friend is right," said a man with a smooth voice. I glanced over to see Kaiser standing there again, looking at me. He was a lot closer than he had been before. "If you won't take it from her, take it from me: leaving now would be in your best interests."

Tattletale looked almost offended that he had stepped in. But before she could offer a protest, the man pressed a card into my hand.

"If you feel the need to share any information," he said with a charming smile, "I can assure you that we would be much more grateful than the Protectorate."

And with that, he joined the the river of departing capes.

I glanced down at what he'd given me. A white business card. Professionally made, no doubt owing something to Kaiser's true identity as a powerful corporate leader. The card had some curt details and a phone number. I flipped it over, half expecting to see a phrase like "Hitler did nothing wrong" on the back. Instead, all I saw was an emblazed logo of Kaiser's iron crown, surprisingly tasteful in appearance. I wondered who he'd hired to do the graphic design on this.

Pocketing the card, I looked up to Tattletale and said, "Yeah, you're right. Let's go."

Tattletale looked as if I'd just insulted her hairdresser. " _Seriously_? You take _Kaiser's_ advice over _mine_?"

I shot her a smile. "Well, if it takes a Nazi to wipe that smug look off your face, they can't be all bad, can they?"

She positively glared at me.

— 18 —

After leaving the staging grounds with the Undersiders, I had asked for a ride home from Bitch on one of her dogs. She had promptly let out a single "ha!" before riding away with her whole team. It being impossible to avoid the looks of many a cape, I did the sensible thing and trotted on off in a seeming random direction. From there, I made my way home.

At the start of the trip, the streets were empty. Then slowly but surely, life returned to Brockton Bay. This had to have been the only time in memory where the Endbringer sirens had gone off and everyone who had homes still had those homes to go back to thereafter. I could see as much on people's faces.

I hoped that no cape would follow me home, and to their credit, I saw none. That either meant they were being subtle about it, or the Endbringer truce actually meant something. Hell, not even the legendarily impulsive Glory Girl swooped down to demand I pony up some answers as to how she of all people could be "lost".

On the other hand, I was the guy everyone had paid attention to, who had Legend's blessing to walk away unmolested, and whose privacy even _Kaiser_ respected, even though everyone there had wanted to grill me for information. Had I come out tomorrow (or this afternoon, really) saying, "Oh, by the way, Glory Girl followed me home and threatened/mastered me into revealing information"—all it would take is one person with a camera phone to back me up.

By the time I made it home, it was near three in the morning.

Nobody was here but me, so I grabbed a glass of water and taped a note to the fridge telling my folks that I was home, safe and sound.

My legs were killing me from all the walking and running I'd done. If there was one thing I needed, it was Greg's cozy, cozy bed.

I entered my basement room, took off my costume, and finished up my water.

 _Bloop_.

I blinked.

Was that my speaker? Was my computer still _on_? Christ, I thought I'd turned that off.

Right. Yeah. I had sparked up a shitstorm earlier today and had basically namedropped my PHO account. No doubt everyone and their mother would be trying to PM me something or other.

Turning the monitor back on, I looked at the breadth of messages. None of it looked like something from Tattletale or Sophia, but I did see a few of the users had [Verified Cape] and [Protectorate] badges. From the message titles, none of them seemed to be about Lord Woofers, so I ignored them out of hand.

Somewhere towards the middle end of the messages, I saw one from Winged_One, dated only ten minutes ago. I opened up the interface for chatting with her.

 _Winged_One: Hey, I don't know when you'll get this, but I just wanted to say sorry I couldn't make it to the party. And I guess I hope you're okay._

I looked it over before shrugging.

 _XxVoid_CowboyxX: Yeah, I'm fine._

 _XxVoid_CowboyxX: Just got home, actually._

 _Winged_One: Wow, okay! That's earlier than I expected._

The response came fast. Was she just sitting there in her room or something?

 _Winged_One: The first thing most people do when they get home after an Endbringer—if they have a home to go back to—is tell their loved ones they're safe. Of course you just fire up PHO._

 _XxVoid_CowboyxX: I thought my PC was off. Again._

 _Winged_One: Do you even know where the shutdown button is? :rolleyes:_

 _Winged_One: Unless… the first person you thought of was me?_

I paused. Just what sort of relationship did I and this girl have? I mean, not in some philosophical sense, more as in just what kind of girl she'd be that she was friends with _Greg_ of all people before I even showed up.

When I thought about it, this night's whole orgy of bad decisions had been predicated by Winged_One more or less asking me out. Had she meant it like that, or was I reading into things?

I typed out a response.

 _XxVoid_CowboyxX: I was trying to flag your message as spam, but accidentally clicked reply instead._

 _Winged_One: :~(_

 _XxVoid_CowboyxX: In any case, it's past three AM and I've been running around the city for the better part of the last six hours. Gonna go to bed now._

 _Winged_One: Sorry, didn't realize._

 _Winged_One: Just—before you go?_

 _Winged_One: The only reason I didn't make it to the party was I got halfway there before realizing I had nothing to wear. I wanted our first time seeing each other to be special, and, well… long story short, I did get_ something _worked out._

She sent a file. The PHO app took a minute and made a few funny sounds downloading it.

 _Winged_One: Here's what you missed out on ;)_

So. Moment of truth. Either Winged_One was who she said she was or… something awful. Four chins? Medusa hair? Literally a disembodied head with tentacles like Sveta? As I moved to open the picture, I made a mental note to reverse image search it just to be safe.

The picture was of a fairly modestly dressed girl who had to have been about fifteen. Her black and red attire looked a bit lacey, but still covered up everyone of note. It was sort of like it had been the sexy wear of an absurdly conservative Christian fundamentalist community out in Utah, and anything more revealing would have been grounds for a public execution.

Skirt was cute, though.

She had blue eyes and hair so platinum blonde it was almost white, with a pointed chin, high cheekbones, and a cute nose. The girl had this awkward little look on her face, like a black man trying to smile for a photograph, as she held a smartphone in one hand and a note card reading "Winged_One 8/15/10" in the other.

 _XxVoid_CowboyxX: Those are some mad photoshop skills for a 40yo neckbeard_

 _Winged_One: *pouts*_

 _XxVoid_CowboyxX: Girl's kinda cute though_

 _XxVoid_CowboyxX: But no visible boob, so 0/10_

 _Winged_One: ahaha. Well, keep an eye out for me, now that you know what I look like. Who knows, maybe you'll see me around sometime ;)_

 _XxVoid_CowboyxX: Right, well. Think I'll be off to bed._

 _Winged_One: As for me, I'll keep an eye open for the illustrious Void Cowboy, Slightly Less of a Dick Now, Verified Drama Queen, and Mysterious Precog the Simurgh Waved at._

 _XxVoid_CowboyxX: New badges?_

 _Winged_One: News travels fast_

 _Winged_One: See ya, Void Cowboy_

Winged_One went offline.

A part of me wanted to go and check out my other messages, but were I to do that, there would go another hour or so of my time. Plus, inevitable millions of flames, death threats, and demands for information could wait for tomorrow.

I made sure to find and press the off button before I went to bed.

And while I was at it, I unplugged the computer just to be sure.

 **End of Arc 1**


	7. Interlude 1: Vista

Interlude 1: Vista

— 19 —

 _Bzz_.

The heavy metal door behind Vista shut, and its twin in front of her opened. Containment foam nozzles pointed towards the new entrance.

"Fifteen minutes," the voice over the intercom said.

She nodded, holding tight the tennis ball in her hand as she stepped through.

The six-by-six cell seemed hardly big enough for the tiny golden lab inside. A vent in the ceiling constantly pumped in fresh, if cold, air. Once more, Vista wondered how strong the metal walls were, and why anyone thought they were needed for a pup.

Puppy Arson—god, how she hated that _that_ name had stuck—rolled off his back and barked at her, wagging his tail so hard she swore his butt was vibrating. As the door closed, the little dog ran up to her, nearly falling down in his excitement.

Vista felt the room with her power and expanded it with a thought, in blatant defiance of the very laws of physics. To an outsider, it would appear no different. To her and the dog, they had all the possible room in the world.

"Heya, boy!" she cooed, scratching his ear. He woofed. "You want the ball? Huh? Huh?"

Again, he barked.

"Go get it!"

He ran after the ball, seeming oblivious to the changes in the room's dimensions.

Vista watched him. And of course, it was Vista, not Missy Biron. She was decked out in her full costume, green and teal, with a skirt. It was protocol: Puppy Arson was officially a villain, and she had to dress up as the hero.

Protocol was a dick.

The pup came back. She told him he was a good boy, pet him, and threw the ball somewhere else. Full of glee, he ran off after it. Puppy Arson's mouth could barely fit over the ball, and it almost hurt to watch him fumble around before finally managing to get a grip on it and trotting on back. She made a note to herself to see if she could buy a smaller plastic bone for the next time she came to visit. That'd probably suit him better.

Throw. Fetch. Throw. Fetch. Good boy.

It struck her as mechanical, almost boring in variety. But Puppy Arson couldn't have been happier. The little guy hadn't had any visitors besides her and Armsmaster—she'd asked. No one should be subjected to Armsmaster as their only company.

Vista took out her phone and snapped a photo of the little guy just because. Then when he came back, she repeated the cycle.

She was rubbing his belly, listening to his happy barks, when the intercom came to life.

"Time is up. Puppy Arson, please move to the other side of the room, or you _will_ be shocked." The speaker sounded almost bored.

Vista looked to the tinkertech collar on his neck for a moment before her eyes fell to the concrete ground. Slumping slightly, she let the room shrink back to its original dimension.

"Sorry, boy," she said. "Rules are rules."

She picked him up and took him to the other side of the room. Vista set him down next to his bowl of food and water and with the most stern, serious look she could muster, commanded, "Stay!"

Puppy Arson sat down, tilting his head.

Vista turned and walked away. The door opened for her, and she passed its threshold. It closed behind her. After a moment, the other door opened, and she saw Aegis standing there, his arms folded. He didn't look happy. Not angry, nor disappointed, just… something unpleasant.

"You can't see him anymore," he said as Vista walked through. "The Director wanted me to let you know."

She looked up at him, eyes wide. "What?"

"You're on the news. Voting down Armsmaster," he said in a calm, if distance voice. He seemed to hesitate for a moment. "I can't say that it doesn't suck, but… your puppy privileges have been revoked."

"Piggot can't do that!" she almost shouted.

Aegis' look took on a slightly harder edge. "She can and has. And maybe if you liked being able to do what you want, you shouldn't have faked your parents' signatures on the Endbringer consent form. And, if I understand correctly, others as well."

His words stung more than they should've. "What's the point? If I had to ask permission for everything, I _still_ wouldn't be allowed to do what I want. And then there wouldn't even be a chance of getting away with it."

When Aegis didn't reply, she frowned. "I liked you better before you were team leader."

With that, she walked off past him.

Aegis, nearly out of earshot, sighed. "Me too."

— 20 —

Missy Biron returned home. Her father was out working, and her mother was almost too busy watching something on TV to notice. As she stood there, at the edge of the living room, it dawned on her that this was deliberate.

"Hey, Mom. I'm back," she said, trying to sound happy. Her mother continued to stare at the television. "You wanted me to tell you when I got home, so… here I am."

Her mother still continued to stare at the TV, maybe with a slightly tighter mouth. Missy's shoulders slumped a little.

What was she even watching?

It was some news segment, featuring crying, concerned-looking children, set to the backdrop of a dog park. The top story today seemed to revolve around said kids worrying the Protectorate—or, really, Armsmaster—would steal their dogs, too.

Crocodile Tears, Missy thought, rolling her eyes.

"Well," Missy said, struggling to find something that didn't sound stupid or forced, "I'll be up in my room. See you at supper?"

Her mother picked up the remote and increased the volume.

"Or not," Missy sighed.

Without another word, she turned and made her way up to her room upstairs. She plopped down onto her bed and let her head hit the pillow. Then, she hit the pillow a few more times, for good measure. How long did she have until school began again? A week and a few days?

She looked to her computer, sitting over on her desktop. She could go online, but it seemed that all her usual haunts were talking about nothing but Void Cowboy, and that asshole had been dead quiet ever since the Simurgh came and left. Nobody had heard a word from him since, or if they had, they'd been keeping it to themselves.

Missy took out her phone and flipped through her dismally short list of contacts who weren't her parents or teammates. No new messages. No one to really text.

She sighed and found her picture of Puppy Arson, as happy as could be, a ball in his little mouth.

The poor dog. _Fuck_.

Stupid Armsmaster. Stupid Piggot. Stupid Aegis.

She tapped the puppy's smiling face on the screen, and a little overlay appeared on the phone. "Share this image?"

Missy thought about it as she lay there.

Why the hell not?

She touched the overlay, then selected the PHO messenger app. It opened up, along with a message pane.

It asked for a recipient, and she typed out _XxVoid_CowboyxX_.

Subject?

 _Puppy Arson_.

She considered what to say. Something short, simple or… something honest? Missy wasn't sure what to say, how to say it, or anything. She doubted Void Cowboy was even reading his messages now.

 _Sweeping_Vista: I hope they give you your dog back soon._

 _They're being real stupid about it. It's been days, and they're still trying to figure out how to get the perfect PR spin on things. Play his return for maximum effect._

 _Until then, Puppy Arson's going to be alone. In a cell._

 _I don't want this to sound mean, like, 'haha we have your dog,' but I visited him today. And I took a photo. He looks really happy in it, but I know he must miss being outside. And he probably misses you too._

By the end, her thumbs hurt. But there. It was sent. And… did she feel better? A little bit, she thought. It was nice to speak to someone, even if they never replied. At least Void Cowboy wouldn't be ignoring her personally.

Missy reached over to her desk, bending space as she did it, and set her phone down. She needed a break from everything. A nap seemed _really_ good right about now.

She wasn't sure how long it was—fifteen minutes maybe—but her phone buzzed. Blinking, she sat up and grabbed it.

Void Cowboy has actually _replied_.

 _XxVoid_CowboyxX: Holy shit, it's Puppy Arson! Thanks for sending me this. I was really starting to worry about the guy._

Missy blinked. She wondered if this was how some of her fans felt when she personally answered their letters, instead of firing off one of the regular PR-approved templates. There were so many things that the world wanted to ask Void Cowboy, and here she was, with a direct line to him.

What to say? "So, can you predict the other Endbringers? How can you tell about Leviathan?"

Nah.

 _Sweeping_Vista: He's really fun and cute. Likes to play fetch a lot._

 _XxVoid_CowboyxX: Sounds like you've been taking good care of him, at least._

 _Sweeping_Vista: Yeah... It's been great._

This conversation felt almost bland. Normal, even. She had imagined a chat with the precog of the hour would be more profound.

It was a minute or so before he replied.

 _XxVoid_CowboyxX: "Been"?_

 _Sweeping_Vista: Yeah. My "puppy privileges have been revoked" after the whole Armsmaster votey deal_

 _XxVoid_CowboyxX: Shit. Sorry to get you in trouble over that._

 _Sweeping_Vista: No, I did a lot of things I shouldn't have, not just that. The vote didn't help though._

 _Sweeping_Vista: Everybody's mad at me now._

Missy sighed.

 _Sweeping_Vista: Mom's not talking to me. They didn't want me going to Endbringer fights, so when they saw me on TV..._

 _XxVoid_CowboyxX: Oh :(_

 _XxVoid_CowboyxX: But you know angsting is for the weak, right? Real heroes don't sit around and brood about things._

 _Sweeping_Vista: wat_

Missy could hardly keep herself from laughing.

 _Sweeping_Vista: Aren't you, like, one step away from villainy yourself?_

 _XxVoid_CowboyxX: I am?_

 _Sweeping_Vista: Yeah, being friends with the Undersiders and stuff. And you sure didn't seem like a fan of the heroes, or you would have gone with Legend afterwards and explained what you meant._

 _XxVoid_CowboyxX: Hey, I'm not a villain. I'm just awesome._

 _XxVoid_CowboyxX: But yeah, you need to cheer up, missy!_

She paused. Had he just used her name, or was he using a little nickname?

 _XxVoid_CowboyxX: You know what? I know someone else who would love to see that photo. A girl about your age, too!_

He texted Missy a phone number.

Missy sat there, considering the number. Void Cowboy seemed almost eager to change the subject. Before she could give it more thought, he messaged her again.

 _XxVoid_CowboyxX: She's been wanting a puppy for a while, too._

 _XxVoid_CowboyxX: Oh. And it's actually her birthday today. I think._

 _XxVoid_CowboyxX: Actually, wait, can you do me a solid?_

 _Sweeping_Vista: ?_

 _XxVoid_CowboyxX: That girl whose number I gave you, Dinah Alcott. She's having a party today. Why not go there—as yourself. No costume, no powers, just a girl having fun with a new friend._

She hesitated, trying to think up a response. Missy started to type when he interrupted her.

 _XxVoid_CowboyxX: If she asks, tell her that Void Cowboy sent ya._

And with that, XxVoid_CowboyxX logged out.

Missy frowned. The guy had just ran off. Hardly an explanation. While they were _talking_. She felt a touch offended as she considered the phone number he'd given her.

Dinah Alcott.

But the more she thought about it, the more it occurred to her that if her mom was going to pretend she didn't exist… why not just roll with it and sneak out? It wasn't like anyone was going to come to her room looking for her.

Hell, maybe this way she could even get dinner _and_ cake.

— 21 —

"Um, hi?" Missy said a little awkwardly to the girl in the doorway.

The other girl, a somewhat pale brunette in a blue blouse and skirt, looked Missy up and down. Her straight hair seemed a little done up, which made sense for a girl on her birthday. "Well, at least you're not wearing a trenchcoat. And you're _actually_ a girl my age? Come on in!"

Missy wasn't sure how to reply, but she allowed herself to be shepherded in through the door. She settled for, "Oh, and happy birthday?"

The girl smiled. "Thanks. You got a name?"

"I'm Missy Biron," she said after a brief hesitation.

"And I'm Dinah Alcott, in case you don't know or forgot." Again, she smiled. "I see you don't have a gift but that's cool. It's cool to even have you."

Something seemed to click in Missy's head. "Wait, you look kind of familiar. Weren't you the girl on TV crying about how scared you were Armsmaster was gonna steal your dog?"

Dinah gave her a shit-eating grin. "Ah, so you're a fan of my work, huh?"

"And… the guy who invited me here said you _wanted_ a dog. You don't even have one!"

Again, Dinah smiled. "Nope. But I got cake. Want some?"

Missy nodded a little dumbly. "But… you lied on TV?"

"So?" Dinah asked. "My uncle does it all the time. He's the mayor. And look at it this way: are _you_ happy with what Armsmaster did?"

"Well, no," Missy replied.

"Then that settles it!" Dinah took Missy's hand and all but dragged her through the house—a very nice, sizable house. Dinah's folks clearly had some spending money—and took her out to the back porch. There were a few other girls here. Dinah seemed eager to introduce them.

"This one's Hannah; she's my neighbor and she likes chocolate. This one is Louise. I think she's from Canada or France—I don't really know the difference. And this one here is Clara from school. She has the same last name as me, but we're totally unrelated. She likes pepperspray. Isn't that cool?"

"Yeah, cool," Clara said in a borderline monotone, moving one of her black curls away from her piece of cake. She was wearing a t-shirt and jeans that went well with her almost boyish figure.

Missy blinked. "Um, yeah. Cool."

"Everyone, this is Missy. Missy, everyone else."

She got a little "Hello" from the other girls, who, aside from Clara, all seemed far more concerned with their cake than with Missy.

"You're giving her cake, just like that?" Clara asked with a snort. "Shouldn't we at least check if she's cool enough first?"

Missy tried not to bite her lip. "What's that supposed to mean?

Clara scoffed. "Dinah, where'd you find this girl?"

A part of Missy felt offended. Before she could say anything, Dinah handed her a generous piece of cake and spoke for her.

"Through some crazy teenage boy we both know for whatever reason," she said, smiling.

"Ah," Clara said, "so this is the one your boyfriend sent over."

"He's not my boyfriend!" Dinah protested.

"I'm surprised he's still a boy at all after I finished with him," Clara said. She mimed the action of grinding something to a fine paste. "He's tough, though, I'll give him that." Then, with a vaguely New York sounding accent, she said to Missy, "How about you? Are you tough?"

Dinah rolled her eyes. "I know we just watched The Godfather, but do you _really_ gotta sound like that?"

The Canadian one, Louise, looked to Missy and spoke up. "She does this when she likes a movie. Don't let it bother you."

"Eh, a wise guy, huh?" Clara replied, making a weird claw gesture at Louise.

Missy relaxed a little and took a bite of cake. It was pretty good, really, though obviously store bought. She wondered where Dinah's mother was. Still, she finished the desert pretty quickly. She was tempted to ask for more when Dinah spoke up.

"Ah, you're done. Hey, this might be weird, but you wanna go up to my room? I wanna ask you something in private."

"Uh, I guess, sure," Missy replied.

Standing up, Dinah pointed to Louise. "And don't even think about following up to listen at the door. If you try anything, Clara will break your kneecaps."

"It's true, I will," Clara added in a casual voice, serving herself another piece of cake.

Dinah beckoned Missy to follow, which she did. She led Missy through the house to her room, somewhere on the second floor.

The girl's room seems pretty normal. A bed, a few posters, a dresser, a closet—the works. There was even a pink beanbag chair. The poster of Alexandria on her wall was even signed! Missy wondered if that had something to do with Dinah being the Mayor's niece. But really, the most striking thing of note were the thirteen gigantic and empty slushie cups.

Before Missy could question the décor, Dinah closed the door and asked, "So, how do you know Greg?"

"Greg? Who's—" Her eyes widened a fraction. "That's his name, right?"

"Well, I have him in my phone as 'Crazy Puppy Guy Greg', but I take it you know him some other way?"

"I… guess so?"

"Well," Dinah said, "in my case, he kinda stalked me a while ago so he could offer me a puppy, and he said I had powers. Or was going to have powers. Then some cape beat him up and I made him buy me a slushie." She nodded towards the shelf of empty slushie containers.

Missy just stared.

"I said I'd call the cops on him if he started stalking little girls again, so I just want to make sure."

"Uh, no, it's nothing like that," Missy replied with some hesitation. "I've never even really met him, only saw him for a brief moment. And the one time we talked online, I messaged him."

"So he wasn't wearing a trenchcoat?" Dinah asked.

"No, no trenchcoat. Though he did have a duster." She'd seen enough costumes to know the difference.

"And he wasn't doing anything sketchy?"

Missy thought about Void Cowboy and how he seemed all buddy-buddy with the Undersiders, and how the Simurgh herself had actually waved at him. A part of her shuddered at that. "He was with some pretty shady people. I don't know what to think of him."

"Hmm," Dinah hummed, looking at her phone. Her brow furrowed. "Wait. Armsmaster sent Lord Woofers to the PRT lockup. How'd you get this picture of him?"

The dog? Missy tried to think up an answer. "Internet?"

Dinah tapped a few buttons on her phone. "Nope. Doesn't show up on reverse image search. Try again."

"Um…"

"It'd just be weird if they let some random girl into the PRT lockup." Dinah looked Missy over with an almost deathly serious expression. "So maybe you're the daughter of someone who works there. Or—maybe you're a cape."

Missy tried not to show any emotions. Wait, no, the poker face itself here was a dead giveaway. _Fuck_.

Okay, Missy, think fast. Can't lie—face already gave you away, if the picture didn't already. "Look," she said, "you got me. But please, please don't tell anyone."

Dinah shot her an evil grin. "Hmm?" she drew out. "What's in it for me?"

The girl looked to her slushie wall and hummed again.

Missy's mind almost flailed trying to think of something to say. _Anything_. This was a mistake. She should have stayed home. Been a good girl. This was all her fault and—

Dinah clapped her hands, shooting Missy this huge, friendly smile. "Oh, come on. Stop being so serious; real heroes don't brood." She gave Missy a playful shoulder punch.

"Wha?" Missy choked out.

"I'm just playing, duh!" The other girl broke out giggling. "I think Greg knows a lot of capes. Just as long as it's that and not something weird, it's okay. You don't have to say, and I'm not going to tell anyone."

"Uh… that's it?"

"Yeah. What did you think this was? I was going to extort you or something?"

Missy was unsure what to say.

"But come on, we'd better get downstairs before the others start wondering what's going on. And don't worry about the whole cape thing. We're friends, and I wouldn't out a friend like that."

"But we're not friends," Missy protested weakly. "This is the longest we've ever spoken, and all you did was scare me and almost blackmail me."

"Yeah. _Almost_ blackmail you." Dinah winked. "And there was also cake." She walked over to the door and spun around. "Really, isn't that how all great friendships start?"

* * *

a/n: I don't even write third person. This is practically my first occasion thereof in years. I know nothing of little girls. I am totally out of my element this interlude. This is sort of an experiment to see if I can ever do these. I know I don;t exactly organize things with arcs and interludes like Wildbow does, but hey, I'm just a special snowflake who's also a loose canon and doesn't play by the rules.


	8. Chapter 7: Edumacashun

Chapter 7: Edumacashun

— 22 —

"Greg?"

There comes a time in everyone's life when they find something painfully simple arduously difficult. I, for example, had difficulty pronouncing my own name.

"Grehg?" I asked the mirror as I adjusted my shirt. It worked well with my new muscles. I felt damn fancy. "Greyg?"

Seriously, how did you pronounce the name "Greg"? It was something that occurred to me a while ago and only now, right before the first day of school, did it really bother me. When I said my name aloud, I had this little drawl thereto. Not entirely a Southern one, I didn't think, but a vaguely New Yorkish one, no doubt inherited from my mother, a ripe Staten Island girl raised to a Queens father.

So, how was I _supposed_ to pronounce it?

The bathroom door swung open. In walked a thin blonde with glasses. As soon as she saw me, she froze in place, eyes wide. The door closed behind her.

I finished adjusting my collar and gave myself a nod in the mirror.

She stared at me.

"Grey-uhg?" I asked her.

The girl slowly, _slowly_ , walked backwards, as if I were a predator whose vision was based on movement. We stared at each other as she reached for the door. The girl got a grip on the handle, twisted it, and bolted out like a spooked partygoer who had just realized what their cannibal host had meant by "just bring yourself".

I shrugged. Wasn't my fault that none of the boy's bathrooms had working lights.

I walked out into the hallways of Winslow High. That girl who ran was nowhere in sight. But then again, it was easy to lose oneself in the waves of people from the other buses entering the building. Evidently, these were the people whose buses didn't arrive at school at an ungodly hour.

Winslow High had a common area. All around, groups of people meandering and talked, meeting up before school began proper.

But for all I could see, I had a lookout for one person: a certain rail-thin curly-haired brunette with glasses. It was the first day of school; girl had to be here.

Someone texted me.

 _Emma: Look to your left!_

I did so and saw a clique of girls, including the redhead herself. She waved an arm, beckoning me closer. I scanned one last time for anyone who might look like Taylor before deciding to humor Emma.

"Heya, hotshot," she said as I neared. Then, with a wink: "Looking for me?"

"Not really, but call it a happy coincidence," I said as casually I as could.

Emma smiled as the girls around her exchanged looks. I couldn't see Sophia.

One of the girls, a petite thing with shoulder-length brown hair, looked me up and down. "Hey, Emma, you gonna introduce us to your new friend?" The other girls chimed in with agreement.

Emma shot them a mischievous smile, but I interjected before she could speak.

"Introductions can wait. I'm on a mission here, Emma."

The redhead perked up. "Oh yeah?"

"I need to find Taylor."

The other girls exchanged glances. A few of them murmured liked hens just waking up. When their eyes returned to me again, most of them seemed to be reappraising me.

Emma crossed her arms and shot me a skeptical look. "Hmm. We have something planned for her later today. A sort of welcome back present." She glanced at the petite girl before turning her attention back to me. "We'll let you watch, if that's your thing."

I gave her a decidedly unimpressed look.

"What exactly do you have in mind?" she asked.

I shrugged. "Honestly? I have no idea. I never have a plan for anything. I'll probably just stalk and/or annoy her until she snaps and tries to kill me."

The girls all just looked at me.

"Who's trying to kill you now?" someone said. I turned to see Sophia walking up to join us. Something about her looking like an average schoolgirl struck me as decidedly ridiculous.

"Taylor, apparently," Emma said.

Sophia cocked a brow. "Okay, now _that_ I'd pay to see."

Emma grinned. She took out her phone, navigated somewhere, and showed me a picture. "Snuck a photo of her schedule during open house last week."

A part of me was curious about the details surrounding that. But knowing Emma, I probably didn't want to know. "Send it to me?"

She touched a button. My phone buzzed. "Done."

I saved the photo before opening it. It seemed like we had lunch together for fifth period, as well as World Studies thereafter, followed by English, and then the day ended. So, all in all, three periods with Taylor. Nice.

Looking back up to Emma, I said, "Let me guess: she hides out during lunch?"

Sophia nodded. "Yeah. One of the two computer labs if they're empty, or sometimes one of the bathrooms."

"Although," Emma piped up, "she sometimes hides up on the roof, or at least she did last year. She doesn't think we know about that though; we've been saving it for something special."

The bell rang.

"And that's my cue," I said, turning to leave.

"Hey," Sophia said, and I stopped to look at her. "Want to meet up after school?"

I considered. Was this some sort of trying to be friends deal, or did this have something to do with Void Cowboy? "I'll see what I can do. Get my number from Emma."

With that, I walked into the crowd of students heading to class. All the while, I had to keep reminding myself that there was absolutely nothing wrong with trying to be friends with Taylor and the girls bullying her at the same time. And that this couldn't possibly backfire on me at all. Now then, to go through the motions of class until I can go stalk the girl who was crazy enough to cut Lung's eyes out.

— 23 —

The computer labs held nothing of interest. And as fascinating as it would be to check out the girls' bathrooms for her, I figured maybe that wasn't such a great idea. I didn't need to press my luck any further today.

At length, I found the one stairwell with roof access. Only once had I attended a school with multiple floors, and that was the third grade, back during a short stay in Rochester, Minnesota. And I highly doubted that place had let students onto the roof. If Winslow did originally have a lock on this door, it had been broken, and no one had cared to fix it. I wondered if this had something to do with New Hampshire's low, low tax rate.

In my old high school, had we wanted to eat outside, we could go onto a patio behind the cafeteria, in a little courtyard with umbrellas giving the various tables shade. But in order to to earn permission to sit out there in the lovely Floridian weather, you needed to have a wristband showing proof that you were a solid A student. Or in my case, that the little Vietnamese girl I knew told the office she'd lost hers so she could give me the "replacement". God bless her and the possibly illegal sweatshop her family owned.

And as I looked out across the Winslow roof, I saw no tables. Just a weird gravelly surface, a sort of garden that looked like no one had tended to it in years, and a couple of surprisingly quiet air conditioning units.

And, of course, a girl sitting by the edge of the roof. With her slender figure and long, curly brown hair, I knew who she was the moment I laid eyes upon her. Steeling myself, I walked towards her.

She simply sat here, eating a pita wrap. I wondered if there was a place that sold lamb around here. Not that she had lamb, just that I was partial to the stuff.

Taylor turned around and looked me up and down. I stood there, appraising her in kind.

At length, she said, "So, you're the one Emma sent to mess with me, huh?"

And just like that, my entire plan for lunch period died a miserable little death.

"Something like that, I guess," I replied.

She grunted. "Let's get it over with, then. What're you going to do? Kick gravel on me? Steal my lunch? Dangle me off the roof?" Her eyes lingered on my chest for a bit before she shot me a suspicious look. "Pretend to be my boyfriend then break my heart?"

I walked up next to her and faced the city. "Mind if I sit down?"

"The gravel's not exactly comfy," she said, "but be my guest. Not like anything I say's gonna stop you anyway."

With some caution, I found a spot next to Taylor. Languidly, I took out my lunch—a reuben, water, and a batch of homemade peanut butter protein cookies. "So, uh. Nice view?"

Taylor scoffed. "Winslow's a shithole. You can see the parking lot from here. My eyes are kind of bad, but I'm pretty sure those guys over there are trying to jack that car."

"Huh," I said, taking a bite of my sandwich. "So they are."

This entire conversation seemed to have been over before it began. Taylor just seemed… bitter. There was no shyness, no adorable lack of confidence when talking to a guy, and all the awkward pauses were _mine_.

"What'd she offer you?" Taylor asked. She took a bite of her pita.

I shrugged. "She started to give me a lapdance last week."

Taylor cocked a brow. "And that's all it took? Also: started?"

"Well, the Simurgh interrupted halfway through."

"And you get the other half after whatever this is?" She made a nonspecific gesture to everything around us. "Or is there some sort of installment plan?"

I eyed her up and down in-between bits of my lunch. For her part, she returned me a defiant look.

"You know, you're far from what I expected you to be, Taylor," I admitted. "I half-expected some kind of pimple-faced, gangly giraffe who's too shy to do more than squeak when I look at her. I guess the summer was good to you? Or they just haven't crushed your spirit yet."

"Summer wasn't too bad," she said with a shrug. "Didn't have a lot of people to talk to, but at least no one bothered me. But really, if they wanted to send someone to, uh, 'crush my spirit', they could do a lot better than Greg Veder: Emma knows all my secrets, Sophia's vicious, and Madison can get away with anything. Next to them, you're just a minor annoyance. Even if it did take me a minute to recognize you."

I nodded. "Sophia and Emma seemed totally unable to realize it was me. Sharp eyes, Taylor."

"The image of you following me around and staring at my ass is still burned onto my retinas." She made a show of shivering. "Is it bad that I find you a little more likeable than last year, even if now you're working with Emma?"

"I put a lot of time into reinventing myself," I replied in an even tone. "I reckon I'd be a mite bit offended if you didn't like me just a hair more."

When neither of us had anything further to add, I opened my bag of cookies and offered it to her.

The girl eyed the snack almost suspiciously.

"It hasn't been laced with anything," I said with a smile. "If I was going to do that, it'd be a poison apple. There's a protocol for this type of thing."

"What are you, some sort of evil stepmother?" she asked.

"In another life, maybe," I replied. "But in this one, I'm a guy offering you homemade peanut butter protein cookies." When she didn't accept, I took a bite myself. "See? Good."

"So," she said, "Emma's evil plan is to fatten me up, now?"

"As long as you don't go walking into any gingerbread houses you should be safe," I replied.

"Fine. I'll have one if you have two. If there's laxatives in there, I want you to suffer."

"Fair enough," I said, and scarfed down another. I had originally planned to ration these out, eating one or two a day. But what the hell?

Hesitantly, she took one out and gave it a probing nibble, like a squirrel. Satisfied with the taste, she finished the rest of it like a normal person.

"Seriously though," I said. "You're different."

Taylor locked eyes with me, a serious look to her face. "Maybe there's something about watching an Endbringer come down on your hometown that puts everything else in perspective."

I nodded. "Yeah, I could see that. I got pretty close myself."

She sighed, looking at her mostly eaten lunch. "After the sirens stopped and we got home, my dad and I got to talking. I told him about Emma. Not everything she's been doing, but he knows we're not friends anymore."

Taylor suddenly let out a bitter laugh. "Funny how that's what gets us talking again."

"Nothing short of an S-class threat, you mean?"

"Part of me is surprised it only took the one. It's like things shouldn't be getting better, but they are," she said with a sigh.

I shrugged. "Maybe it's all a Simurgh plot?"

"Riiight. Now you sound like the new girl in my computer class." Her tone changed. She spoke in a slower, slightly frustrated voice, as if explaining something to a particularly stubborn idiot. " _No_ , if your program doesn't compile, it's not a Simurgh plot. It's because you don't know what you're _doing_."

"I feel like I should be offering you a cigarette right about now," I commented.

"You smoke?"

"No," I said. "Do drink, though. And, iffen ya ask me, you could use one or the other right about now."

She looked at me. "'Iffen' is not proper English."

"Ah, so you joined the grammar wing of the Empire 88, I see. Explains a lot."

Taylor rolled her eyes.

"Hey, pardon being so forwards, but might I have your number?"

She seemed to consider. "If I say no, will you just get it from Emma?"

Before I could say anything, she rattled off a number. I scrambled to get my phone out and enter it in, repeating it to make sure it was all good. When I called, all I got was a few rings and an answering machine.

"Hello, you've reached Danny Hebert—"

I ended the call. "Home number?"

"Don't have a cell." She shrugged. "So be careful. Dad might pick up and start wondering why there's a boy calling me."

"Or we could set up a dad date."

"What's that?"

"Where we set up our old men to go and bro out. You ever been to a shooting range?"

She shook her head.

"My old man is a big fan of the second amendment," I offered. "I could call him up, and while he teaches your old man to shoot, I teach you likewise." After a moment, I added, "Oh, and bring a few photos of Emma."

"I take it your mall catalogs are all too sticky by this point?"

"Well," I said with a shrug, "there's a reason why the solution was a bonfire."

Taylor cringed, though she was unable to hide a little smile. I considered this a victory. A smile, no matter how small, was a precious thing coming from Taylor.

The bell rang out.

Taylor, as if on cue, packed her garbage into her bag and zipped it it tight.

"Is that a yes or no to the shooting range?" I asked.

"One of those two," she said, standing up.

"Hey, one last question," I said. "You and me, same time tomorrow?"

She shrugged and walked off towards the stairwell.

"You can run, but you can't hide!" I called out. "Seriously, we both have World Studies next."

— 24 —

 _Emma: I think you might have a stalker_

I looked at the text over and over as I sat out on a bench out back of the school. Day one had ended without issue. And as the last of the buses departed, I waited for Emma and Sophia to show up for us to do whatever.

 _Greg: How do you mean?_

In a sense, I wondered if this was karma. Greg had been a creep before I'd shown up, and I myself had been a creep in less obvious ways—and up until today, I had all but planned to creepily stalk the Taytay in order to befriend her.

 _Emma: Some girl overheard me and Sophia talking_

 _Emma: We maaay have mentioned Void Cowboy_

 _Emma: And she maaay have gotten the idea that we knew him…_

 _Emma: And she maaay be begging us to introduce her_

I paused to think.

 _Greg: Is she cute, though?_

 _Emma: …_

 _Greg: Well, I_ have _always wanted to sign my name on a pair of tits._

 _Emma: I don't think she has tits_

 _Greg: Fuck!_

 _Greg: Get rid of her._

 _Emma: What do you think we're trying to do?_

 _Emma: She latched onto Sophia and won't let go_

I let out a sigh. Never could be something simple, could it? I considered booting up my not!iPhone, putting on some strange music that existed only in this world, and just walking home.

I let myself indulge in that fantasy for about a minute or two until I got another text.

 _Emma: Sophia shoved her into the music room_

 _Emma: We got her out of our hair, at least_

 _Emma: Hey, we're gonna actually leave here. Catch you tomorrow?_

Translation: Sophia probably beat the shit out of the other girl and wants to escape the scene of the crime. On the one hand, the girl was dealt with. On the other, well, Sophia had whooped some ass, and the girl probably wasn't in that good of a shape.

I pocketed the phone with a sigh. Why couldn't I just be a heartless bastard and let the stalker girl just fester in her bruises? As I got up and tried to remember the way to the music room, Tattletale popped into my head. _Underneath it all, you actually care about people. Not a lot, but more than you think._ I wondered if somewhere in their lair, she was being smug about me.

At this hour, the school was almost totally empty. No one wanted to be in Winslow any longer than they had to on the first day, and honestly, I couldn't blame them. The music room found itself nestled in one of the distant corners of the building. I idly wondered if the school band was any good as I entered the room.

Closing the door behind me, I looked around.

There, over by one corner, was a girl. She looked like she had tried to get up at some point, but had staggered back down onto all fours into a position that was somewhere between crawling and lying down, her ass sticking ungracefully up in the air. She had one arm wrapped across her stomach.

As I stared at her, she raised her head to me and brushed some of platinum blonde hair from her face. Her blues eyes met mine as she gave me a weird species of short-lived smile partially obscured by a split lip and a rather black eye. There was definitely going to be some swelling later on. From what I gathered, before Sophia had gotten her her, she was probably a bit of a looker. I think.

"It's not as bad as it looks," she half-groaned, a strange, vaguely Southern twang her her voice. She made with weak little grin. "Daddy hits harder."

I blinked as recognition hit me. I _knew_ this girl. Or, at least, I had seen her in a PM from a certain girl I knew online. "Do you need help?" came out of my mouth.

Her smile strengthened. "Pretty please?"

I walked over to her and grabbed her hand. It struck me as incredibly soft as I hefted her to her feet. The girl wobbled a bit and plopped herself down on a chair. That weird smile didn't waver at all.

"The hell happened to you?" I asked.

"Some girl got mad at me."

"Why?"

She gave me the most innocent shrug. "Well, first I talked to her. Then I hugged her. Oh! And then I grabbed her boobs."

I gave her a sagely nod. "And now everything suddenly makes sense."

"Touch her boobs, she gets mad and hits you. That's usually how it works. But… cause and effect can get kinda iffy," she continued. "For example, sometimes girls get mad and hit you _before_ you touch their boobs. Really, who's to say what the underlying cause is. Clearly this phenomenon needs more study."

She looked at me brightly. "You're a guy, so do you wanna be my control group?" The girl reached a hand out for my chest.

"Only if we do this quid pro quo," I replied, raising a hand in a claw-like gesture.

"Nope!" she squeaked, going limp and hitting the floor. Then she rolled away like some kind of freaky armadillo. After hitting the wall, she propped herself up, her legs beneath her.

"No touchie before we're married!" the girl barked out. "Only I do the touchie."

"You try anything," I said, pointing at her, "and you lose your shirt privileges."

She hissed at me like a cat, swatting in my direction. Then, sitting up a little straighter and fixing her ruffled blouse, she said, "Could I at least see yours?"

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

Crossing her arms, she pouted. "Can't at least _one_ of us be slutty so the other one can enjoy her first day of school?"

"Can't rightly say," I replied. "After all, I gotta protect my perky pecs from predatory people like you."

"No fair!" she moaned. The girl stewed in her resentment for a moment before saying, "I'm telling you, this is all one giant Simurgh plot to keep the hot guys _just_ out of my reach."

"I'd be inclined to suggest fewer Endbringers, and instead propose it's got something to do with that chastity belt you call a personality."

Her jaw dropped as a look of pure mortification overtook her. "How _dare_ you!" she seethed. Hugging her arms tighter to her chest, she pointed her nose up into the air. "Sweep me up into your muscly arms and carry me home as compensation for your horrible words."

I stared at her. After a moment, I turned and took a step towards the door.

"Wait, no!" she cried out. "At least to the nurse's office? Please?"

"You're just going to start touching my chest the instant I pick you up, aren't you?"

"Who, me? Pfft!" she dismissed, waving a hand. "I'll grab your butt, most likely. After all, I'm digging that ass like I'm mining," she added with a wink that was maybe supposed to look seductive, but got mostly ruined by the black eye.

I started to turn around again.

"No, no, no! I'll be good, I promise."

"Yeah?" I said, eying her over.

"Scout's honor," said, making a weird, twisting gesture with a hand.

"As a former member of the Boy Scouts of America," I told her in a plain voice, "I can safely say that gesture means nothing. It's not even a Girl Scouts' thing."

She gave me a big pair of puppy dog eyes, making her split lip quiver a bit. "Daddy never let me join them."

With a sigh and a shake of the head, I squatted down and took her up in my arms. Lift with your legs, not your back! She just had this bright-eyed smile on her face all the way.

Carrying her bridal style, I left the room and entered the empty hallways. I had to think for a bit to remember where the nurse's office was.

"You know," she said after a good few minutes, breaking the silence, "I always heard Winslow was bad, but I didn't think I'd get beaten up by a gang member on my first day."

"I don't think that girl was in a gang."

"Oh. I thought she was with that black gang… the Merchants?" she replied. "I mean, before I moved here, I looked up all the local gangs, and the big ones seems to be based off race. The Merchants' leader is black, so it sorta made sense."

"And his girlfriend, that tinker, is white," I offered, turning a corner.

"Hmm," she hummed. "Come to think, so was the black girl's girlfriend. You think there's a gang of interracial lesbians running around beating on white girls?"

"You know what? I'm not surprised that you got your ass beat ," I said with a sigh. It echoed off the school's walls alongside my footfalls. I took a left turn.

"No," she protested. "I got beat up because those interracial lesbians wouldn't tell me where Void Cowboy was!" The girl crossed her arms, almost fuming. "I heard them talking. They knew him, and I figured, 'what the hey', and asked them. Then they beat me up."

"After you felt up their breasts."

"After I felt up the _black one's_ boobs," she corrected.

I got to the nurse's office, only to find it locked up tighter than a nun. The windows showed only a black room. Seemed like _all_ the staff left this place at their earliest convenience.

"Well, looks like you're screwed, champ," I said in a cheery voice, setting her down.

She wobbled a bit on her legs. "You sure you don't want to carry me around some more?" she asked, "There might be another nurse's office around here somewhere."

I looked unimpressed.

The girl sighed, slumping her shoulders. "Yeah, okay. Right." She looked around before asking, "Hey, you wouldn't happen to know Void Cowboy, would you?"

I said nothing, just stared at her.

"It's just," she tried, rubbing an arm, "I was looking for him." It sounded dumb.

Continuing to stare at her, I took my time saying, "Lotta folks looking for him."

"Yeah," she mumbled, her eyes cast down. She sounded sad for the first time since I'd met her.

The girl really did look off without a smile, almost like her face felt at a loss for what to do without one. Almost unnatural.

After a moment, I broke and said, "You do know that you don't find Void Cowboy, right?"

She continued staring at her feet.

"He finds you," I ended.

I swear I could see the gears in her head clinking along until coming to a rusty, squealing stop. "Bu-wha'?" she stammered out, casting her eyes up to me.

I didn't change my expression.

Her eyes went wide. "Oh my god, it's you. You know what, nevermind what I said earlier. Praise be to the Simurgh plot!" Smiling hard, she touched her chest. "I'm, uh, I'm Winged_One."

"I know," I said.

"Then why didn't you tell me?"

"Because you'd act like this."

She blinked. Then, in a conspiratorial tone: "Right. Precog. I gotcha." The girl wrapped her arms around me, brought her face up to mine, and licked me across the cheek. "There! Now no other girl can claim you!"

Swear to God, I spent a good half minute trying to pry her off. I could see now why the black eye might have been necessary. When I succeeded, the girl fell down but bounced right on back to her feet, coming up with happy eyes and a full-on grin. "So then, stranger, what's your name?"

I thought for a moment on what to say. Or more to the point, _how_ to say it. Eventually, I settled on something satisfactory.

"Greg," I said in my most honeyed Southern accent.

As I looked over her, a thought struck me: ever since I'd ended up in this world, my life had been dominated by women. Sure, there was my father, those Nazis at the book club, and that one time I'd met Regent. But aside from them, almost every person I'd had any lengthy or important interaction with had possessed a pair of ovaries.

I almost didn't want to know her name; the idea gave me a sense of dread.

Worst of all, this girl, whoever she was, had technically been a part of my Wormverse life longer than almost anyone else, though under an internet pseudonym. The only person I'd known longer had been Greg's mother, and even that was sort of a technicality.

Now here was Winged_One, in the flesh and ready to take part in my life, right alongside Sophia, Emma, Dinah, and Queen Bittersnark the Eyegouger Taylor.

"And yours?" I finally asked. I had to at least commend her for waiting her turn to speak. Someone had been taught manners.

The girl adjusted her white blouse and fixed her long black skirt. She gave me this sweet, innocent little smile and said two words.

"Simone Morgan."

* * *

a/n: This was the chapter that first taught me to try to focus on your waifus. Split the attention oo far and you risk tings like how Simone's scene here tended to overshadow Taylor's scene, which sucked, as I loved Taylor here.


	9. Chapter 8: Le Fay

Chapter 8: Le Fay

— 25 —

"Home!"

Simone put her keys in a little bowl by the door. She turned to look at me, almost expectedly.

For my part, I stood just outside, eying the house. The place seemed small, with a tiny lawn that could do for a mow. Simone's house seemed like so many others in the neighborhood, with few things to set it apart.

Through a combination of begging and looking sad, Simone had roped me into pretty much walking her home, to this little place. Something about it being dangerous for a beat up girl to go home alone through Brockton Bay. And to be fair, I could still walk to my own home from here.

"You comin' in or what?" Simone asked.

"I don't know if I have the time," I said with a shrug. "I got a busy evening pumping iron and staring at myself in the mirror planned out."

"What, just carrying me wasn't enough of a workout?"

"Just carrying one girl ain't enough to tire me out," I replied. "Usually I stack 'em."

Simone rolled her eyes and pulled me into the house by the hand. "C'mon. Lemme make you something or… something."

Sunlight filtered into the living room through the windows. The room contained a couch, a small, empty bookshelf, and a coffee table. No TV, though. From here, I could see into a small dining room, as well as a rather clean, if empty, kitchen.

"How spartan," I commented.

"Hey, so, make yourself at home," Simone said, a bit eagerly. "I'mma go clean myself up. Got some blood I gotta get rid of, y'know?'

Before I could really say anything, she disappeared down a hallway.

I sighed and took out my phone. With a text, I informed my mother that I didn't know when I'd be home, but not to worry. Mother didn't reply.

I could distantly hear Simone scurrying about in another room.

Lacking much to do, and with no desire to stand there like a tool, I set off to explore the house. A few things caught my eye—a couple of boxes here and there that looked mostly packed up, with some of their contents lying about.

But mostly the place just felt… dreary. My footfalls echoed a bit more than I expected.

The windows struck me as less than ideal and far from well insulated. I didn't imagine they'd hold out a New England winter. To top it off, some of the paint around them was chipping.

Then there were the cabinets and counters of the kitchen. How old was that wood? Was it even real wood? The brown tiling looked more like it belonged in a bathroom than a modern kitchen. Some of the counter, too was peeling. Water damage?

Honestly, it surprised me that there was no mildew in any of the corners. And was that power outlet hanging a little loose-like off the wall?

It all sorta reminded me of the types of places I used to live in as a kid before my folks divorced.

In the dining room, a framed photo sat on a cardboard box. Its frame looked scuffed, like it had been dropped a lot. It depicted a young Simone, a smile on her face, her arms wrapped around a broad, well-built man with military-style hair. From the look on his face, I had to imagine he'd been caught by surprise. Had to be her father.

No mother, though. Unless maybe she was the one taking the photo. But then Simone might have mentioned her. Single father seemed more likely.

Moving from there, I entered the kitchen proper. A part of me was curious as to what they'd put in their shelves. But rather than combing through cabinets, I gravitated towards a couple of potted plants sitting on the windowsill.

Whatever they were, the smelled strong, and looked well taken care of.

"Ah, you've found my plants!"

I turned around to see Simone, decked out with jeans and a T-shirt. Her eye looked a bit better. Was that makeup? The girl smiled as she walked up beside me.

"This one's basil," she said. beaming. "His name is Sir Henthrope. And this one is my cilantro. I call him Admiral von Tubbywitz."

"You grow these yourself?"

"Totally," she chirped. She picked up the pot of cilantro and sniffed it. "Why, you're looking perky today, aintcha?"

Simone looked at me and said, "You know, when we moved here, I was afraid these two wouldn't make it, but the Admiral is particularly hardy. If it weren't for him, I don't like Sir Henthrope woulda made it. But I guess that's what friends are for, right?"

I didn't really have a response to that. Glancing at the clock on the stove, I remembered her father. "Right. Well. Maybe I should get going. Your dad should be home soon anyway, I figure. Don't particularly care to cross him."

"I thought you were some kind of hero," she said with a frown, putting the Admiral down. "You're just going to leave a poor girl alone with all these boxes to unpack?"

Crossing my arms, I replied, "Right. So you just wanna use me to do all the heavy lifting."

"Please? I'll… um, I'll cook you up something for dinner?"

I stared at her. "Dammit, you've learned how men operate! Your father is a traitor for teaching you our ways."

Simone smiled. "C'mon, it's this way!"

— 26 —

In a word, small. Her room resembled an oversized walk-in closet more than anything else. And while the place did have a closet of its own, the room was elsewise sparse. A twin bed, a desk with a charging laptop, and a dresser—to say nothing of the odd few unopened boxes labeled "Simone". Well, no, I had helped carry most of those into this place.

"Should be the last of them," I offered, setting a heavy box down next to the other. Combined with all the other boxes, I could see why now she was so eager for my help. Dinner had better be worth it.

"Just pick one to start out with," she said, sitting down on her bed. "Oh, but not that one," she is, gesturing to a seemingly random box. "That one's private."

Taking the initiative, I found me a box. I took out a little Swiss army knife I had on me—because I went to Winslow and it'd be dumb of me not to have one—and cut open the tape. I stopped midway and glanced back at Simone, who waved at me playfully.

"I…" I started, then paused, trying to word things properly. "I kind of don't want to open them. Not that I mind helping, but… I don't know. You're gonna think it's weird."

With that smile of hers, she said, "My journal details the secret, saucy love affair between Sir Henthrope and Admiral von Tubbywitz. Oh, and I'm actually scared of oatmeal. I have this recurring nightmare where I fall asleep over breakfast, my face lands in my bowl, and it starts eating me."

I blinked. "Right."

She gave me a sort of "what?" shrug.

"It's just… for the past few months, you've been this mysterious figure in my life. We'd talk, but I never really _knew_ anything about you. You were just… there. Cheering me on, in a way. And I got used to thinking of you like that. Now here I am in your bedroom, about to unpack some of your most private possessions. It's just a bit sudden, you know?"

"Ah," she cooed. "You're afraid that once you open the box, the magic will be gone."

I didn't reply.

"Y'know what this reminds me of?" she asked. "That time in Secret of Mana, where Cloud goes on a date with the princess at the Millennial Fair, but ends up in jail awaiting trial for kidnapping her. And while there, he hears from the other inmates about the dark side of the monarchy that the princess is complicit in, and it sort of makes you start to turn against her. Remember how that all went?"

I shrugged. Sounded like some video game or book reference the old Greg might have waxed on about. Really, I had no idea. "Sorta kinda."

She hummed as she bounced on her bed a few times. With a start, she jumped to her feet. "I've got it," Simone declared. "We'll start with the private box!"

Simone bounded over to her private box and pulled it a little towards her. Kneeling in front thereof, she fiddled with the tape before I came over and tapped her on the shoulder, offering her my knife. Looking sheepish, she just pointed out the box, and I cut the tape for her.

Rather than opening the box then and there, she paused, as if psyching herself up. At length, and with long exhale, she opened it. I took a few paces back, and her head got in the way of me seeing anything.

She reached into the box, took out a card, and handed it to me.

"Happy 12th!" the front declared. Opening it up, I read the handwritten script. "Never stop smiling." Signed "Jodie".

"From your mother?" I asked, setting the card on her desk.

Simone shook her head. "Just an old friend. Me and my dad met her a while back. I'm not sure what happened to her." Simone rummaged around in the box before pulling out an old, somewhat tattered baseball cap. She looked at it for a very long moment, her smiling having faltered, before handing it wordlessly to me.

Next she took out a book with a worn hardcover. From the art, it looked science fiction. She opened the cover and gave it to me.

"To my first fan" had been handwritten right there by—and I flipped the book to check—the author. I scanned the book for a publishing date. 2008.

In a quiet voice, Simone said, "He was a good guy. Always knew how to make people laugh."

I set the book and the cap next to the birthday card. "I don't know what you're trying to show me here," I said, "but whatever it is, I don't get it."

"Oh," she mumbled. After a moment, she closed the box and just stared at it.

"Simone?" I prodded.

"Maybe this wasn't as good an idea as I thought," she said, still staring at the box.

"What do you mean?"

"It was stupid," she said. "Shouldn't have… that box, if it has a name—it would be…" Simone let out a mirthless chuckle. "It'd be 'people I'll never see again'."

I didn't say anything.

"Nice going, Simone," she muttered under her breath. She sighed. "This is why all the boys think you're weird."

She licked her lips and looked up at me. "So, is the magic gone? The mystery of Simone Morgan, solved?"

I gave a slow shake of the head. "I don't reckon I understand you any better than I did before. If anything, I think I'm even more confused."

Simone suddenly smiled at me. "Really? Cool!" She stood up and walked over to her bed, where she plopped herself down on.

Almost flabbergasted, I just watched her bounce a little on the mattress. "So, now that _that's_ settled—" she reached into her jeans and pulled out a little smartphone. Simone pointed it at me.

"Say 'hi, daddy'!"

"I cry your—" I tried, only to hear the faux-shutter snap.

Simone looked at her phone and giggled enough that she snorted. "You look stupid. Wanna see?"

Unsure of just what to do, I sat down next to her. Yep. That there was a stupid looking Greg Veder alright, though still all cleaned up. I'd done good for the kid's flesh.

She sighed a bit over-the-top. "Y'know, I wish Daddy would hurry up and come home already." A thought seemed to creep over her, and like lightning she was typing away on her phone. "There!" she declared, quite proudly.

I continued to stare at her.

"Just told him I'm in my bedroom with a boy I met at school today."

As a look of vague horror crossed me, she just laughed. Simone rocked side to side on the bed, like she couldn't contain her energy for standing still. She bumped into me with a wink.

Thinking of the ramifications of that well-built guy knowing what my face looked like, even with a very stupid expression, I almost didn't notice when Simone's phone buzzed.

She made this exaggerated, disappointed expression. "Aw, Daddy says he's he'll back on time, at seven." her phone buzzed again. "Oh, and that he loves me."

I blinked.

"Well," she chirped, spring up from the bed. "Might as well pass the time with these normal boxes. We'll see which of us can find the one with all my underwear."

"Wait, _all_?"

"Yeppers," she replied.

" _All?_ "

"Uh, 'cha. Ya gone deaf or something?"

"No, but… if it's _all_ , then the hell are you wearing now?"

Simone giggled and shrugged. "Guess you'll never know!"

— 27 —

Just as the sun was contemplating going to bed, a red pickup truck pulled into the driveway. Simone, wearing a gnatty off-white apron, rushed out of the kitchen, leaving the spaghetti to its lonesome. She went up to the window, where I joined her.

The pickup looked beat-up, but well-cared for. I wondered how old it was as the driver killed the engine. He opened the door and let a well-polished black boot hit the concrete. The man idled there, probably fishing something out of the passenger seat.

Then he stepped out into the light. He was every bit the man I'd saw in the photo, if not more. He looked like a well-shaven bear, at 6'3", clad in some maroon uniform complete with a peaked cap. As he walked up to the front door, I could see a taser, gun, radio, baton, and can of mace in his utility belt.

As soon as he'd opened the door and stepped inside, Simone practically tackled him. "Daddy!"

The man held her tight with one arm, tousling her hair with his free hand. "Heya, Simone. Is whatever in the pot for me?"

"And him," she chirped, and the man's eyes moved to me.

Best I could, I met his gray eyes and held the look, refusing to back down or look sheepish. My very life might have been on the line! At length, he grunted. "Didn't want to run while you still had the chance, huh?"

"Old guy like you?" I replied. "Wouldn't be sporting."

He laughed, and Simone decoupled from him.

"Well, you do whatever you're gonna do," the man said. Like Simone, there was a trace of something distinctly, but not entirely, Southern to his voice. "I'mma go get changed outta my work duds."

He walked down the side hallway, leaving Simone and I just standing there.

"Hey, wanna watch me make food?" she asked, and then just skipped on over to the kitchen.

Lacking anything to do, I followed.

In one pot, she boiled spaghetti. The other pot held a sauce. She ran her kitchen knife through a sharpener before dicing up some tomatoes, mushrooms, and bell peppers. With expert speed, she further diced up some cooked chopped meat and added it to the mix as well.

As I watched, she gave it all a thorough stir. And after a moment, she picked a few ought leaves from Sir Henthrope, the basil, and added it thereto as well.

Seeming satisfied, she ran the knife under the sink and cleaned it off

"Hey, so," I tried, "what does your dad do?"

"Work, you mean?" She shrugged. "He's an enforcer down by the Boardwalk. Pays a bit nicer than his old security job, but it'll mean patrolling outside over the winter."

Boardwalk enforcer? "Shit," I hissed.

Simone turned to me, still brandishing her knife. "Hmm?"

"Just… I hear bad things about the enforcers. Like to crack skulls and borderline murder people to keep their employers happy, and the riff-raff out of the shoppers' eyes."

"Would it bother you if he did stuff like that?" she asked.

"Only if he brought that sorta ethos into the home," I replied. Then, in a slow, deliberate voice: "'Daddy hits harder'."

"So it's alright if he beats shoplifters and leaves them for dead," she said in a colder voice, "so long as he doesn't hurt me?"

When I didn't immediately replied, she just smiled. "Good thing he isn't like that. Geez, someone needs to figure out what sarcasm is."

Just like that, she went back to preparing the sauce and stirring the pasta.

"Hey, you wanna get out plates and forks and stuff?" she asked. "Help me set up for dinner."

"Uh, sure."

— 28 —

Simone and her father dug into the pasta and meat sauce. For my part, I ate a bit slower. Simone had made plenty, and it was rather tasty, but still. The two hardly spoke as they ate, and it felt mighty weird to interrupt that silence.

At length, Mr. Morgan spoke up. "Y'know, it's not every day I come home to find some strange boy in my house." He casually rolled up some spaghetti with his fork. "Simone sometimes has trouble making friends. And there's been the odd boy or two looking to take advantage of that." He speared a mushroom to cap off his fork before eating it all. The man wasn't looking at me. And when I looked to Simone, she was just arranging her food in the shape of a smiley face, seemingly oblivious to the world around her.

" _And_ ," he said, "I'd like to know just what your intentions are with her." The man looked up from his food and right into my eyes.

Wordlessly, I returned the look, my mind racing. A very cautious part of me knew I needed to answer his question carefully And if I didn't, then I could kiss my dick goodbye.

On the one hand, oh frak! But on the other, I could really respect this sorta ethos. It reminded me of how I behaved towards any of the boys in my sister's life, boyfriend or just friend friend. I made a mental note that if I ever had kids, then to pray to God that they were all sons so I didn't have to deal with this sorta bull on a regular basis.

"Dad, it's okay," Simone interjected. We both looked at her. With a cheery smile, she faced me. "What he's trying to say is you ever hurt me, he'll find you and break all your bones. Even the itty bitty ones you didn't even know you had."

"And?" her father said expectantly.

"And what?" Simone asked, her smile weakening.

"If you're just going to give the shovel speech for me, you need to do it right."

Simone poked her tongue into her cheek, looking up for a second. A sort of "ah-ha" look crossed her face before an angry squint overcame it, directed at me. In a raspy croak, she said, "And they'll _never_ find the body."

I blinked.

"And trust me," she went on, "that'd be the best part of the experience. Daddy here learned seventeen ways to make a man beg for death during his time in Vietnam."

The man rubbed his chin. "I think my father served in Vietnam, but you've got the right idea, sweetie."

She beamed at him.

"Anyhow, I think I'll give that a passing grade. I don't quite think he needs a new pair of pants, but it'll do. You might make it more effective with a prop next time. Remember that boy back in Colorado, when we were having chicken wings and I kept snapping the bones?"

Simone giggled. "That was great." She glanced at me for a moment. "Too bad we never saw him again."

He gave the air in front of him a thoughtful look. "Heh, yeah. Good times."

A phone buzzed. Simone and Mr. Morgan exchanged glances before the man pulled out a phone.

"Who is it?" Simone asked.

Mr. Morgan sighed. "It's Tommy. Needs help with something." He stood up from his table. "Simone, sorry, I gotta cut dinner short. And I suspect I'll be back late." He went over to her and gave her a hug. "Seeya, sweetie."

"Bye, Daddy!"

"And you," he said, pointing at me. "If you're still here when I return, I will seriously kill you."

With that, Mr. Morgan turned and left the kitchen. I watched him put on his boots, get his keys, and head out. And through the window, I saw his truck turn on.

"So," I said, "for the record, what's Tommy last name?"

Simone gave me a curious look. "Lebeau, I think. He's French. Why?"

"Oh, no reason at all. Just curious."

Simone tapped her chin. Without a word, she got up and walked into the kitchen and out of sight. I took another bite on dinner as I waited for something to happen.

"Hey, Greg?" she called out. "Can you come here for a moment?"

"Um, sure, gimme a sec," I said, taking a few more quick bites. I cleaned my mouth with the napkin before standing up. After a moment's thought, I put my fork and knife on the plate and took them all with me into the kitchen.

I turned the corner and set foot onto the kitchen tile.

From the corner of my eye, something small moved fast towards me through the air. Without thinking, I raised my plate in front of my face. And an instant later, it cracked down the center with a loud, sharp _thunk_. I dropped everything to the ground, my utensils and remaining spaghetti clattering on impact.

As the plate shattered, I saw an object in the mess of porcelain shards. _A kitchen knife_.

As if with a will of its own, it rose back into the air, steadying itself before shooting back at me.

I stumbled backwards and tripped. My back hit the ground hard just as the blade would have impacted my head.

Of course, the knife had other ideas. It stopped itself in midair, angled down and just dropped. Hard.

I threw my prone form out of the way. For my trouble, the kitchen knife grazed across my cheek. Blood, hot and red, leaked out through the wound. I didn't have time to think about it. Not even to dwell upon the fact that _holy frak it hurt_.

The knife, gleaming with a few drops, rose up.

I rolled across the tile, my blood mixing with Simone's meat sauce. The fork I'd dropped pressed into my back for an instant as I rolled atop it. My body hit the cabinets. Fast as I could, I scrambled to my feet and tried to run away. The knife, still floating in the air, turned as if to track me, but remained otherwise still. I only managed two steps before something pulled on my leg with a vice-like grip. I didn't get a chance to even see it before I fell down.

I smashed head-first into the kitchen tile. My forehead exploded in pain enough to make spots flare across my vision—even though the only thing I could see was the floor.

A foot slid under me and foot rose. With a feeling like being grasped by ten pairs of hands, I got rolled me onto my back.

Simone stood there, looking down at me. She seemed… what? Concerned? Contemplative? She had her hands behind her back. The knife floated directly above me.

The knife languidly descended towards me. I tried to roll away, only for something to slam down on my gut enough to knock the wind out of me. I felt like I might vomit. I tried to double over, convinced that if I did throw up like this, I'd choke.

Something slammed into my chest and wrenched my back straight, pinning me to the floor. The pressure weighed heavier and heavier, bending my ribs until I was sure they were ready to snap. I couldn't even get enough air in my lungs to scream.

I watched as the knife, as if falling in slow motion, inched up to my right eye. As I just lay there, staring, I felt the pressure on my chest ease up. I didn't dare move, for fear it would decide to start breaking things if I tried to move again.

The knife brushed up against my eyelashes and just stopped, the shape of a blade reminding me of a half-formed grin.

Simone, a sad little smile on her face, stepped over me. She knelt down, facing me, eventually sliding a leg over my chest so that she was straddling me. The invisible pressure on my chest left me, replaced by the weight of her infinitely lighter body. From the back of my mind, I knew that if I struggled, tried to throw Simone off, the pressure would return with a vengeance. At least with Simone, I could breathe.

In the whole affair, I must have moved my head as I felt the cold steel touch my cornea. As if itself startled, the knife rose up an inch or so quite rapidly.

Simone pressed a hand against my chest and leaned forwards. The knife moved to the side so that she could hold her head just above mine. I stared into her blue eyes as her long platinum blonde hair fell over my face. Gently, she brushed her hair out of the way before, with infinite care, caressing the cut across my face. Her hand came back with more than a few drops of blood.

The look on her face was soft, almost motherly. "You know," she said, her breath hot across my face, "I really like you. That's why this is hard."

She sighed. "You've been really great to me today. Back at school, you came across me and carried me to the nurse's office when you didn't have to. You walked me home. You listened to all my silly stories."

Simone gave me a little smile. "You didn't even screw up meeting my dad."

The way she said things, and the look on her face—it was almost enough for me to hope that this was still the Simone I knew. That this was all just some impossibly convoluted misunderstanding. That she was going to help me up, clean my cut, and we were just going to laugh this all off, maybe even end this whole thing with a hug.

But a cold, dread-filled part of me refused to believe.

"But?" I croaked out.

"But I've known Void Cowboy—I've known _Greg_ —for a year now," she said. "And you're _not_ him."

* * *

a/n Hey now, Void Cowboy, or Greg, or Ereg, whoever the hell you are, looks like you're in a spot of trouble! But I suppose it makes sense, Simone being a girl. After all, **_the waifus are restless_**.

As for Simone, you gotta wonder what's going on in her head. She gets the shit kicked out of her hours ago just on the chance to meet some really good friend of hers for the first time. Then she meets him. She likes him. She even brings him home, even fi her home is kind of a dump, and you have to wonder what that means for her home life. But still, things actually look on the up and up. Simone is a weird girl, and her quirks probably do make people flake on her. Yet here's a boy who isn't falking and she kinda likes. But she can't shake the feeling something is wrong. This is Greg, of course. But it's also _not_ him. Not like someone just faking being Greg, but actually him. She just knows it. Yet he's acting wrong in subtle ways, so she gambles it all with her power and a knife. She _has_ to figure out what's wrong with Greg.

Bold move, eh? Let's see how that works for her.

* * *

Comment of the Day (because doesn't just let me openly reply to a comment like on SpaceBattles): Someguy the Anon

 _Is a obviously in fact a trap (flat chest guys)_  
 _Morgan - SIMone mORGan_  
 _says everything is a simurgh plot_  
 _Conclusion: The Simurgh has mastered a boi to live vicariously through_

*Distant "Trap Queen" by Fetty Wap plays in the distance*  
But no, it's a little more complicated than that. It's a sad fact that some girls just aren't as bewbs as Emma, and thus belong is the trash bin. Sadly this girl got the weapons out first, so it seems like our boy Greg here is gonna find himself in the husbando trash bin, and in multiple pieces. But hey, if Greg makes it out alive, then... he'll have a cool facial scar maybe.


	10. Chapter 9: Waifu with a Knifu

Chapter 9: Waifu with a Knifu

— 29 —

"Shit."

It came out as a breathy whisper. More of an acknowledgement of what was going on than anything else. My heart raced as I looked up at Simone, her weight pressing down on my chest, making it that much harder to breath. With the blood seeping across my face and the pain in my head, the only thing going through my mind was the girl's last words.

Simone smiled a toothy grin at me. I couldn't see the knife past her hair, but I knew it was floating there. "If you admit it," she said, "I _might_ go easy on you."

Easy sounded good right about now.

"Yeah, ya got me. I ain't Greg."

She stared. "I… just like that?"

"Pretty much," I replied carefully, as if she were a poisonous snake prone to biting at the slightest provocation. "You're obviously going to kill me or break all my bones or something, and you happen to be right. Sorta kinda. It's complicated. And there ain't much point in hiding it if it's just going to make things worse."

"Oh." She leaned back, sitting up straighter and blowing hair out of her face. "I had this whole speech lined up and everything. It was going to be awesome."

I just stared up at her, unsure of what exactly to say next. At length, I forced a smile and said, "Feel free to go through with it anyhow if you want. I promise to listen very attentively."

"Now you're just patronizing me." She pouted and playfully slammed a fist down onto my chest. It didn't hurt in the slightest. "So, if you're not Greg, who are you?"

Time to tell the truth—or at least what little I knew.

"Well, one day I was fiddle faffing around, drinking and trying to procrastinate about an online math test as hard as I could. Next thing I know, I'm some half-naked guy face-down on a keyboard. Of course, that was all three months ago." I licked my lips. "And since I have no idea how to undo whatever happened, I've just been living as if I _were_ Greg, more or less."

Silence hung in the air like a tarp.

"So you're just an ordinary guy?" she asked. "Not some super evil body-snatching villain I can beat up to get Greg back?"

"To be fair," I replied, "iffen it worked like that, I reckon it would have happened the second time Bitch beat the shit outta me."

She slumped. "That sucks. And I really wanted to be a hero here, too." Simone floated the knife away, and I heard it clattering into the sink basin. With the blade gone, I allowed myself to exhale slowly.

"Far be it from me to criticize," I said, "but I don't think most heroes are too keen on threatening people with kitchenware. Or going for the eyes like that, for that matter."

"They're not?"

I shook my head.

Simone just looked at me, as if lost in thought.

Meanwhile, I took the time to look her up and down from my lowly vantage point. It seemed to take her a moment to notice, and a further second or so to realize just how compromising a position this was.

"Now that you're not going to murder me," I said, "would you mind getting off my chest?"

She crossed her arms, but I saw a bit of red on her cheeks. "Maaaaaybe. I kind of like it up here. Nice and comfy. Good view."

I pushed her off gently, and she let me. While she got to her feet and brushed herself off, I took the chance to rub my ribs. How much of me was going to bruise? When I looked up, she was offering me a hand.

I brushed her hand aside and stood on my own.

My cheek felt a ways from clotting properly, so I walked over to the sink and ran the tap. Trying not to look at the bloodied knife, I splashed handfuls of water over my face. With any luck, it wouldn't scar.

The sight of blood running down the drain reminded me of the few ought nosebleeds I got every so often during really dry weather. I recalled times in my past life, staring into the sink much like I was now, transfixed as blood washed down the drain.

Had the knife been dirty? Would the cut get infected? Probably not, but to be sure, I used some hand soap to cleanse the wound. It stung a mite bit.

I finished washing my face and reached for the little handtowel sitting there, but paused. No, that wouldn't do; it'd get all bloody. Did the Morgans have any—

A roll of paper towels floated within reach. Simone stood a little to my side, rubbing one arm awkwardly. "Um…"

With a grunt, I took a few sheets from the roll and wiped my face. The white paper towel came back a bit pink. I tossed them in the garbage can before getting new ones to cover the wound.

"Look, Simone," I said, "I think I should get going now. I don't want to be here when your dad gets back, and you'll probably need some time to clean up."

She looked to the fragments of plate still on the ground, where spilled pasta and meat sauce mixed with blood.

I walked past her and into the front room. My boots lay to one side of the door alongside my backpack. Hastily, I put the boots on. And as I was equipping the backpack, Simone caught up with me.

"Hey, wait," she said.

I looked at her expectantly, wondering just what she thought she could say at this point. Haha, it was all a joke? Sorry I knifed your face? I feel bad about scaring you like that?

"If you're not Greg, then what should I call you?"

Or that.

I let the words hang for a minute before I opened the door and stepped outside.

"Maybe you shouldn't call me anything."

— 30 —

By the time I got home, the paper towel had soaked through. I only kept it with me to stop from bleeding all over my clothes. Oh, and because I wasn't a filthy litterbug.

As I went inside, I saw my father, Jerry in the living room. He looked up from his book, cocked a brow, and said, "Well, someone had a fun first day of school."

"Yeah, you could say that."

With a sigh, Jerry closed the book and set it on the table beside him. "You might wanna clean yourself off before your mother sees you and has a heart attack." He gestured with a thumb. "We got some big bandages in the bathroom."

I nodded and went ahead. The hot water on my face felt relaxing, to say nothing of how it washed away the thin red crust from where the cut had dried out a bit. For the second time today, I watched my blood run down the sink.

Standing there, rubbing the wound, I thought of Simone. Bitch was crazy, at least from what little I understood of her. You had to be, in a way, to go from cheery smiles to "stabbing you in the face with a knife" in under three seconds. And after I told her what she wanted, she'd just gone straight back to normal, almost like she'd accepted it and forgiven me in an instant.

Something was seriously wrong with that girl.

I let out a heavy sigh and shut the tap off. I dried my face with a towel—no blood, this time—and eventually found a bandage behind the mirror.

The cut didn't look too bad now; facial wounds just tend to bleed like they're worse than they are. Probably wouldn't scar either, and even if it did, I could just bug the PRT until they got Panacea to heal me. I didn't feel like checking, but I'm pretty sure "annoy Panacea" was somewhere on my grand old todo list from when I first arrived in Worm, and this would be a productive way of checking that one off.

With that happy thought, I opened the bathroom door and found my father still there in his chair. He eyed me as I came into view. "Care to tell me what happened?"

I paused. Without going into detail—"Girl trouble," I explained.

"Ahhh," he sighed. "Been there too. You know your mother actually almost shot me when we first met? Veders are like magnets for crazy chicks."

I just stared at him. That made sense. An uncomfortable amount of sense.

"You should be more careful, though," he said. "And if you need help, you can always ask me."

"Alright? I guess?" I glanced towards the front door. "But I think can handle this on my own. I'm pretty much just going to stay away from her from now on. Although…"

"Yes?"

"You ever think I'll run into a normal, sane girl?"

He laughed. "Not a chance in hell, son."

I sighed. Figures. "Thanks, Dad."

— 31 —

As I saw it, basements were just weird, and having a bed in one, doubly so. See, in Florida, basements didn't exist. Sure, the local university from my pre-Greg days sort of had them, but those had just been buildings dug into the slight hills. (And while we're at it, hills were also really strange in Florida.)

You'd think I'd be used to all the oddities of Brockton Bay by now, but the fact that basements existed here still made me pause and go, "Huh, that's neat" from time to time.

Then again, I was the kinda guy who sometimes did that when thinking of just how much I loved oxygen.

Oh, and Simone was crazy. As much as I tried to distract myself with inane mental rambling while trying to fall asleep, I kept coming back to her.

And with such an ever so cheery thought as that, I checked the time on my phone.

I sighed. It might have felt like a long day, but it was still a bit too early to call it a night.

Now, I could sit here and feel sorry for myself in between spats of thinking about just how cool it was to have hands, or I could _anti_ -angst like a pro. And the latter felt better. After all, I was a man of action! Even if the only action I really cared for was to find girls and annoy them.

With a sigh—er, I mean, _newfound determination_ , I pulled up my sadly short list of contacts and selected the person most unrelated to these events.

 _Greg: Hey, Dinah! This is Greg, here to save you from the clutches of Captain Boredom—the most insidious and vile of supervillains!_

I waited for a moment before getting a response.

 _Dinah: I take it this is what happens when you have nothing better to do_

 _Greg: You could at least make an effort QQ_

 _Dinah: :sighs:_

 _Dinah: My savior! You're just in time, Weird Puppy Guy Greg! Nothing good is on TV :(_

 _Dinah: :swoons:_

 _Greg: Okay I get it._

 _Greg: Also, stop watching the boob tube. It rots your brain._

 _Dinah: You sure? Because I was watching this documentary about a cape who speaks the secret language of crocodiles, living with them and learning their ways. It was really fascinating._

 _Dinah: Then he got eaten by a crocodile_

I sighed, shaking my head.

 _Greg: You were rooting for that to happen the whole time, weren't you?_

 _Dinah: Well, there could be other reasons for watching it~_

In other words, yes.

 _Dinah: Vista still says Dog Whisperer is better, but I think she's only saying that because the good guys always win_

Wait, what? Good guys? I thought the Dog Whisperer was about some Hispanic guy who talked to dogs and made them act good. That sorta made sense to me. Kinda explained why Bitch liked it.

I decided that, at some point, I would have to watch Dog Whisperer just to find out what the fuss was about.

Oh! And if I ever needed Bitch's help, I could just buy the season DVDs and bring them over. I bet she'd love that. Assuming she didn't have them already.

Just watch as part of her contract with Coil was free copies of the DVD box set, with behind the scene features and director _and_ actor's commentary.

 _Greg: So the two of you are friends now? Also, you figured out who Missy was?_

 _Dinah: Yuppers. And we're gonna have a sleepover this Saturday. It'll be great_

 _Dinah: Oh, and speaking of Vista, she says you really need to check your PHO inbox. Like, right now_

 _Dinah: I'll tell her you said hi_

My PHO inbox? I got out of bed and went over to the computer. Also, goddammit, I forgot to unplug it. The thing was still on. I set the phone on the desk and booted up Firefox.

— 32 —

I spent the next few minutes aimlessly surfing my Parahumans Online inbox, which continued to overflow. A part of me was legitimately amazed that the system hadn't decided to start deleting them all to make room for more, or disallowed new messages coming in.

Amongst the stuff I didn't care about—the standard "tell me your secrets" sorta deal, and was that a message from Coil?—I saw one from EmilyPiggot. I stared for a moment, not opening it. Piggot used PHO?

Judging by the "Puppy Arson" in the subject line, this was probably what Vista was referring to.

"Dear Void Cowboy, I'm official, wee! Blah blah blah."—Oh, here's something. Piggot wanted to approach me with an official apology, and to that end, sought to publicly return Puppy Arson this Friday, after school, outside the PRT building. No strings attached.

Huh.

Going back, I'd also received a letter from Armsmaster. It seemed to just be an incredibly generic apology, where he had clearly inserted "stealing your puppy" over places that no-doubt had "[insert transgression here]" before.

It ended with: "I deeply regret any inconvenience / damage / mental anguish my actions may have caused.

"Sincerely, Armsmaster."

I had to wonder if an automated program wrote that. If we ever met, I was going to ask him.

More to the point, this all seemed too easy. No threats, no negotiation, just returning what's mine. And considering the PRT probably didn't like me very much, and deeply wished to prod my special place with needles until I told them the future, well—let's just say that in the parahuman career, paranoia was nothing but an advantage.

I leaned back, thinking of how to safeguard myself. I mean, I wanted my dog back, no doubt, but this?

An idea struck me.

I scrolled up through my inbox until I reached the one I was sure came from Coil. In typical snake-like English, he was basically offering me a "consulting" job, good pay, and other stuff I was too lazy for.

My reply was simple: "What's Lisa's number?"

I dicked around for ten minutes before Coil replied.

 _This_Mortal_Coil: How about a win-win? I give you her number, and she asks you a few questions on my behalf._

He sent me Tattletale's number before I could reply.

No pretenses, no playing dumb, no bullshit. I could respect that.

 _XxVoid_CowboyxX: ty_

 _This_Mortal_Coil: np_

I blinked. I really hoped that was an ironic np. If not, Coil was far worse than I'd thought!

I reached over to a bottle of water took a drink before entering the number, which I saved as "Lisa", into my phone.

She answered on the first ring.

"Okay, first things first," she said, "Coil wants you to prove that you're for real by saying what his power _really_ is."

"Tattletale, I am offended," I replied. "Not even so much as a 'howdy-doody, chumo'. You just jump straight to lying."

"It's pretty much a habit at this point," she said casually. "So, why'd you call me up at ten o'clock at night? Boss said I have to take what you say 'with the utmost seriousness.'"

I sat down on my bed, a smile creeping over my face. I couldn't resist. "What are you wearing?"

She hung up.

I crossed "annoy Tattletale" off my mental checklist for the night. Then I speed dialed her again.

"I hate you," she said upon picking up.

"Love ya too, snookums," I purred.

"I know you're doing this just to annoy me."

I grinned. "It's pretty much—"

"'A habit at this point,' right," she groused. I could practically hear the eye roll.

"Anyways, I got a problem." In as few words as possible, I explained to her my situation with Puppy Arson and the PRT.

As I went on, I could hear her typing. Thirty seconds later, she finished with a particularly fast series of keystrokes and let out a quiet, "Ah ha. _Seriously?_ Wow."

"Stop fantasizing about me and actually help," I said.

"Shut up," she snapped. "Your password is Gunslinger1982. You don't get to speak."

I waited, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a reaction. It was probably futile, but that's never stopped me before.

I also wasn't going to change my password.

"Okay, look," she said at last, "so the thing with the dog isn't a trap, or at least not the kind you're worried about. Piggot is sincere about returning the puppy, since it doesn't benefit them to keep him, and it's making them look worse by the day. I think orders from up on high may have been involved at some point as well."

I heard some more clicking, then a pause.

"Huh. Turns out Armsmaster _does_ have a program in his helmet to automatically send out half-assed apologies. Aaand now I owe Regent a hundred bucks. Fuck."

I got up and went back to the computer. "Speaking of Regent, mind giving me his cell number?"

"Why?" she asked.

I shot Piggot a PM, agreeing to the Friday thing. "So I can call him and we can go bro-out together at that place that does your hair."

"Lebeau Cheveux?" She let out a long, pained sigh, then gave me the number. I wrote it down quite happily.

"Oh, and another thing. Mind being my plus one to the Puppy Arson thing?"

Silence came from the other end.

"Actually," she said eventually, "I was thinking I'd just stay home that night, lie in a bathtub filled with bubbles up to my chin, and drink until I can forget I ever knew you." She sighed. "But since that amount of drinking would probably kill me—and because I want to see Armsmaster when he gives his mandatory 'apology' speech—yes."

"Also," I said, "because I could just get your boss to make you. Probably."

Tattletale sighed again. She seemed to do that a lot when I was involved. "Goodnight, Void Cowboy."

"Wait, wait, wait," I interjected. "Weren't you supposed to ask me some questions on the boss' behalf?"

"Huh. So I was."

Tattletale hung up.

* * *

a/n Well what do we have here? To use part of a comment from Spacebattles on this chapter (luv you Char-Nobyl):

Poor Simone. Literally within _seconds_ of confronting Greg with the knowledge that (even though she actually likes him) she _knows_ he isn't the Greg she met online, he reveals what is possibly the worst possible response: he's well aware, has no idea why it happened, and he's completely blameless in it happening in the first place. Old!Greg is, as far as Simone knows/is concerned, dead. She never got to meet him in person or even see what he looked like, so New!Greg is essentially a completely different (and if we're being honest, about as worse of a) person than Old!Greg. Not only that, but a completely different person that A) she liked B) liked her and C) her _father_ liked, or at least tolerated. Given what she's probably used to, bringing home a boy, cooking him dinner, and having him hit it off with her fiercely protective dad may as well be a freaking Disney princess fantasy romance for her.

...and because she made an assumption and tried to be a hero, her new friend has apparently cut ties with her, and she's left to clean up a kitchen full of broken, bloody reminders of how her actions took one of the best days of her life and turned it into one of the worst.

But hey, Greg got to cross annoy Tattletale off his list. So I guess that's a karmic neutral day!

* * *

Comment of the Day: Geeknasty

 _Simoneyandere waifu_  
 _Taylortsundere waifu_  
 _Dinah/Missyloli wai.. just kidding!_

 _I'm starting to think the simurgh's plot involves turning SIGreg into a parahuman harem king._

Trust me, man, that's a terrible idea. I, Greg's damsels all bring distress. Taylor is the scary snark girl. Simone is the waifu with a knifu. Dinah is a blackmailing little sister scamp. Sophia is Sophia. Emma... well, she has boobs, so there's that—no, wait, focus, she's a bad person, don't get distracted, Greggy boy! I mean, Tattletale looks good in that skintight costume and is really fun to annoy, so there's that.

Point is, you don't want to touch any of the girls in I, Greg. I'm pretty sure Taylor _bites_!


	11. Chapter 10: This Is Why I Drink

Chapter 10: This Is Why I Drink

— 33 —

Anytime.

She'd show up anytime now.

I glanced out the café window at the small park on whose other side lay the PRT building. I hardly got a good look at it because of the angle and the few ought trees, but I could tell it wasn't as big as I'd imagined. Where I'd pictured a skyscraper, all I got was a dinky little building no more than six stories.

A part of me felt naked here, without a costume. The only remnant thereof I had was my hat, which sat on the table—I'd stashed the rest of my attire in my backpack, nestled comfortably under my chair.

Why Tattletale had felt the need to meet in a café, out of costume, was beyond me. She wanted to talk with me before the puppy event started, but she refused to do it in a sketchy and conveniently located alley like a proper supervillain.

Silly Tattletale.

I woke my phone up, swiping the screen and entering the passcode to unlock it. The screen now just showed the last text I'd received from Lisa. "Hang Tight. B there in 5." That had been fifteen minutes prior.

The waitress came over. In what was clearly a rural New England accent, she asked me if I needed anything. A refill of coffee—black—or maybe a glass of water. She was kinda cute, with a nice, dimpled smile.

All I could do was shrug. She nodded and left.

A part of me wanted to call Tattletale now, but were I to, I'd just look desperate. And if there was one thing I knew about girls—other than how they were all batshit crazy—it was that desperation breeds contempt.

Even when I was totally shitty with women, I'd known that much.

Seemingly out of idle habit alone, I found my way onto Parahumans Online. There was a ten page thread in the Brockton Bay subforum about Puppy Arson's return—the posts mostly consisted of speculation on how things would go and gifs of Armsmaster. Someone had replied with "Armsmaster_irl," and it linked to a video of him making a jerky, robotic movement, but looped, with a techno remix of him saying in a stilted voice, "If you ever want to see your puppy again" interspersed with a clip of him saying "You want that soda diet?"

Below, someone posted a picture of a boy with a face made of metal. I had to assume it was Weld. He looked almost amused, and maybe a little bit confused. The letters across the bottom of the picture, written in cut-out letters, read "Bloodshed."

It still felt slightly less cancerous than /b/.

I skimmed it, without any real interest. It was just _there_ , something to do. Then, on the last page, I saw a post from Winged_One, congratulating me and wishing me luck on escaping what would undoubtedly prove to be a dastardly trap.

I closed the page. Not going to think about her.

The door opened, ringing a little bell. In walked a green-eyed blonde wearing blue jeans and a white blouse. She wasted no time beelining towards me.

She took a seat across from me and said, "Sorry I'm late. Couldn't get off the phone with the boss."

I nodded. "I ordered without you. You had a hazelnut double fudge brownie. It was delicious."

"Hmm?" She cocked a brow. "Somehow you don't seem the type."

She was right, of course. Like I'd be caught dealt trying to commit sugar seppuku with all that fudge. I lifted my hat and put it on, revealing the snack I'd gotten her.

"Mmm," she hummed, taking a bite. "Careful. If you keep this up, tonight might actually start to feel like a date."

"Perish the thought," I replied in a calm voice, and took a sip of the last bit of my coffee. This black, it tasted a lot like blood to me. Yet it was the only kind I would stomach. "But what, then, might this be called if not a date?"

"A job, a headache, an order from up on high. Lots of things, really."

"So what you're saying is you don't want to be here."

Lisa shook her head. "No, it's just… I have a lot on my mind tonight."

"The famed TT with too much on her plate? Color me alarmed."

She shot me a smile that died as soon as it appeared. Her attention turned to the PRT building just across the street. I got the sense that she was trying to figure out something else, maybe with her power, but she also looked… what? Bitter?

I found myself struck with the sudden, awful image of TayTay and Lisa hanging out on the school rooftop, talking about how terrible the world was.

Well, I could solve that! I took a packet of sugar off the table, opened it, and pinched out a few grains. Without warning, I splashed her like a sweet shotgun.

"What the—?" she tried, turning to me.

"I have a strict no-moping policy on my dates," I said. "Besides, you're not the right kind of cute to be sad."

"Oh yeah?"

"Some girls just look better sad. They're the kind you want to lock up in a cage and poke with a stick for the adorable factor. That ain't you. You're better covered in sugar." I sprinkled her again for emphasis.

Lisa rose her hands as if to defend herself. "Why do you keep doing that?" she said, trying to suppress a bout of laughter.

"'Cause you're a girl," I replied."And you're exceedingly fun to annoy."

"Ah. You see, that's where we're different: I'm a professional." Lisa took a big bite of her brownie. "You bug people for fun, whereas I make it my business to vex others for fun _and_ profit."

"Yeah, I'm well aware."

"Sometimes I wonder just how much you know, and how much you only pretend to know."

I considered a response. "Suffice to say I've seen you in action enough, mostly in the future, to get a fairly good grasp of you and your team."

She shot me a thoughtful look. I half expected her to engage in some sort of thinking tic, like gnawing her hair. "What am I like in the future?"

"How far ahead we talking?"

She shrugged.

"Well, I could say you're unchanged. Still arrogant. Have to be the smartest person in the room. You've got money and power galore." I gave her a pointed look. "But you also lack for purpose. You're reckless, to the point that mouthing off to Jack Slash seems like a good idea. Ain't nothing can change that about ya, I don't think.

"On the one hand, I feel like you're going to end up getting yourself killed. On the other hand, I wouldn't be surprised if you got through the worst of everything with little more than a bloody nose." I glanced down at her lips, tracing with my eye where I recalled Jack Slash would cut her, almost ear-to-ear. "Or a Glasgow grin, so to speak."

She poked her tongue into her cheek, looking up in thought. Her gaze turned to the window once again, a more solemn expression to her face. It took me a moment to realize she was staring at her reflection. Did her power work on herself?

"Do you think I'm a bad person?" she asked.

I hesitated, trying it give it a quick think. "I'm not so sure I can answer that."

"Why not?"

I sighed. "I think you're a _person_. Sometimes good, sometimes bad. Sometimes just trying to stay out of jail—or a cage in Coil's base. You did, will do, some pretty heinous things. Some of them you had more choice in than others. I've seen you completely ruin the life of one of the few genuinely good heroes I know of. But I also saw you save someone who was broken and didn't know where to turn to. I think in the end, that's what stuck with me." I grinned. "Even if you did turn her to a life of villainy."

"Huh. And that's it?" she asked.

"What else might there be?"

She shrugged. "I half expected you to start lecturing me there about 'leading a proper life' or some goody-two-shoes crap like that."

"Now why would I do that? You're a big girl; you can make your own choices." I paused. "Though if I can make a suggestion?"

She gave me a "go ahead" nod.

"Maybe iffen you were to run into Panacea, could you avoid telling her any soul-crushing facts? The chain reaction it sets off ends… badly."

"Hmm," she hummed. "I guess I'll keep that in mind. But what about some of the things I've already done? And I'm not talking about knocking over the local jewelry store."

"Like what?"

"Jacquie Longfellow," she said, counting with her fingers. "Adrian Wasserman. Horace Rosenthal."

"Are those names supposed to mean something?" I asked.

"You don't know? I figured you would."

I shrugged, and she sighed.

"Wasserman was a test to see if I could sink a company's stock. When I found kiddie porn on one of his employee's laptops, it wasn't too hard to transfer it to his own. He hanged himself in jail three weeks later.

"Jacquie was a friend, back in the early days after I'd just been recruited. He had her executed in front of me because I tried to run. He… he made me pull the trigger.

"Rosenthal…"

She sighed again and shook her head. "You can go ahead and call me a villain all you want. Inch by inch, down the slippery slope, I've earned it. And whatever bad thing happened because of what I said to Panacea, well, it probably isn't the worst thing I'm to blame for."

I thought for a bit. Something this heavy almost demanded it. The hell was I even supposed to say to that?

Lisa was staring at her reflection again.

The waitress showed up once more. She asked if I needed another refill. Lisa didn't even look up, and I just shook my head silently. The waitress left without a word.

I bit my lip, wracking my head for something to say or do.

"Hey," I prodded. Lisa glanced towards me. In the very same moment, I flicked her with some sugar. "No. Moping."

She flinched in surprise, sputtered—then laughed.

And laughed.

It struck me how ridiculous this all was. Here she was, spilling her life story, acting all tragic, and I was just like, "nope." But really, I didn't know what else I could do. By the end, I found myself smiling too.

Her laughed died down as she took a napkin up to a damp eye.

"Huh," she said after catching her breath. "I think some of your sugar got in my eye."

I nodded. That was definitely what had happened.

"Seriously, though," I said, "fuck Coil."

"So how about you just tell me what his power is already, and I can get free of him sooner?"

And there it was. Bombshell dropped. I reckon I was supposed to be shocked, bothered, or caught off guard.

Instead, I slowly shook my head and sighed.

"You're joking, right?" She sounded somewhere between offended and desperate. "You're fucking joking. Why not? Do you even have a reason? Whatever happened to the Void Cowboy at the Endbringer response, speaking up because it was the right thing to do?"

My mouth tightened.

"Is being an asshole that important to you? Watching me squirm? What do you want me to do, beg?"

"I just want my dog back," I said. It sounded hollow, empty. A part of me just wanted to pull my hat down over my eyes and pretend like Lisa wasn't there. "Why don't you just, y'know—do your thing and pull the answers with your power?"

"If I could, don't you think I already would have?" she almost exploded, as if trying to just spew it out, get it over with. Like it hurt her.

I blinked, almost at a loss. Was she implying her power didn't work right on me?

Screw that. More importantly—Lisa was kinda cute when she was angry.

I sighed. "So, you want to know Coil's power and how you beat him before? In detail?"

Lisa grit her teeth, refusing to look at me. She clinched her fists, even.

I sat there, thinking. What would this change. What ripples could telling her cause? What if she did manage to escape Coil's machinations? Would that mean no Undersiders? No teen villains for Taylor to join when, or if, she triggered?

I considered the list of woobies I wanted to help. That coupled itself nicely with the fact that Lisa had successfully made me feel like a jackass. She had a point, too, and that only made things worse.

Now, I wasn't really the best at gauging facial expressions. It probably had something to do with the fact that, as a child, I wasn't so much dropped on my head as much as I was thrown across the room (thanks, Dad). But even here, I could practically read her thoughts through her eyes: "Don't make me beg." It was how I imagined Dinah might have looked, her spirit breaking a little more each time she asked for "candy".

And she would beg if I made her. I knew it. This was that important to her. The idea put a lump in my throat.

For the first time since becoming Greg, I actually had power over someone. Real, tangible power, even if it was just information.

Lord help me if I was going to act anything like Coil.

"Okay," I said at length.

And so I told her.

— 34 —

Lisa smiled as I approached her and the fountain just outside the PRT building. I played with the new domino mask I'd decided on; it was in place of my bandanna, which now was around my neck where it belonged, since I figured Void Cowboy should look a little less bandito, a little more Lone Ranger.

"How's it all look?" I asked.

"Eh, I've seen better."

I cocked a brow. "Think it would be better with one of those skin tight bodysuits that capes are so fond of?"

"You wish," she muttered, rolling her eyes. After her seriousness and that display of vulnerability back at the café, it was good to see her acting more like her usual self again.

My gaze turned to the few ought news vans parked on the street. From the number of them, they likely weren't just the local crews. I recalled such vans being at my university every so often back in my pre-Worm life. They'd always parked in areas I was pretty sure you weren't supposed to park in (like there was a very visible parking garage across the street), but I figured the media was above the law for little things like this.

"Hey, Void Cowboy," Lisa said, getting my attention. "If I tell you something nice, can you promise not to let it go to your head?"

"Hard to say. You really gotta ask yourself if it's possible for me to get any more arrogant. What if I'm already at, like some sort of theoretical human maximum, past which I spontaneously combust?"

Lisa's laugh sounded nice, it occurred to me.

"You're not as awful as I thought you'd be," she admitted. "If I'd had to describe you yesterday, I'd've said you're just a crazy retard and borderline asshat who knows way too many secrets."

"And now?"

"You're genuine. And surprisingly easy to talk to."

I beamed. Screw being bashful.

"At first," she went on, "I figured you'd be like everyone else: my parents, Coil, even Grue, to some extent. Seems like everyone in my life wants to own me, control me, tell me what to do."

"The trials of being a teenager," I replied.

"I think I really needed this." She smiled. "Getting some perspective for once from someone who isn't a font of endless bullshit."

I was about to try to deflect the comment, say it was all in a day's shenanigans, when Lisa stood on her tippy toes and planted a kiss on my cheek.

I just stood there, gaping at her. For the second time in as many hours, the girl had rendered me speechless—my thoughts a jumble of nonsense and, occasionally, bits of Southern country music. The words "Yeah, we go together like cornbread and butter" ran through my head.

How, exactly, was I supposed to react? Back home, I had a plan for this sort of thing. But for a Worm character? It felt… well, I really didn't know how to articulate it.

She didn't give me a chance.

"So thank you," Lisa said. When she stepped back, I realized she was holding my hand. "I'm gonna find a way to get away from Coil, okay? Not right away, but…"

I nodded, trying to compose myself. "Yeah, you will. Now then, we've burned enough time. What say you we go crash my own party?"

I walked towards the PRT building, but Lisa didn't follow. Her grip on my hand made me stop.

"Hey," she said, brushing a bit of hair out of her eye, "this might sound stupid, but wanna just skip the puppy thing? Go see a movie or something with me?"

I gave her a look like she'd gone mad. "You mean turn this into a _date_ date?"

"What, does everything have to be a clever ploy to further my own villainous agenda?" She shook her head. "Geeze, try to be nice to a guy…"

"Sorry, honeybuns, but there's a little dog waiting for me. And it's not like this is all some PRT plot to get me in an interrogation room, right?"

"No, it's not."

"Then what are we waiting for?" I asked.

This time, she let me me lead her up to the steps of the PRT building, up towards the entrance. I imagined we might look like a cute couple.

The two PRT officers on duty caught my eye. I could see their belts, each armed with a pistol, a radio, cuffs, a taser, folding baton, and… was that a grenade? I deeply hoped it was a containment foam canister or something.

It struck me as a bit excessive for rent-a-cop duty. Still, it was less than what they'd had for the Simurgh fight.

The guard whose nametag read 'Carlyle' stopped me. It suddenly struck me he didn't look like a normal PRT officer. For one thing, he had a face, to say nothing of the lack of burly combat armor or those ghost buster ray guns that shoot foam. He and his partner both looked more like tough security guards with a PRT logo on their uniforms.

"Let me guess—Void Cowboy?" he asked.

I gestured to myself. "Ask yourself."

Carlyle squinted, looking me up and down. At length, he said to his partner, "What do you think, Geoff?"

"The costume's a bit different. I'd give this one… six outta ten. He's got the hat right, but the rest is just off."

Carlyle crossed his arms and sighed. "Beat it, kid. You're the seventh 'Void Cowboy' we've seen tonight, and the real one's already inside."

I gaped. "You're shitting me."

He ignored me and instead merely nodded at Lisa. "You're cute though. You can come in."

"Dude," Geoff spat, almost offended. "She's got to be, like, sixteen."

No, no, no—they couldn't have let some random asshole in a Void Cowboy costume in. The PRT's not _that_ incompetent, right? Right? Someone tell me this all-powerful wing of the federal government isn't run by toddlers!

I looked to Lisa for help. For some advice. Even a reassuring smile.

But before I could as much as get a good read on her expression, Carlyle waved to something behind me.

I turned around to see a Supergirl ripoff landing, a girl wearing a hooded white robe in her arms. Touching down, the pair decoupled. I wasn't entirely sure why they were here, but nevertheless, I took a step towards them and said, "Pancakes!"

Glory Girl flew a bit, putting herself in between Panacea and me. "Whoa, there, buddy. I don't care what your problem is, but she's only here for the puppy."

"Which makes four of us," I said, holding my ground.

She looked me over. "Wait, are you Void Cowboy?"

Carlyle sighed. "Not today, Glory Girl. Just another guy in a bad costume."

"Hmm," Glory girl hummed, staring at me. "He _does_ look kind of like that asshole from the Endbringer response. You sure it's not him?"

Panacea stepped around Glory Girl with a small sigh. "Here, I got this."

She reached out to shake my hand. After some confused hesitation, I accepted. Her expression didn't change.

"He's not a parahuman," Panacea said, as if bored. She dropped my hand and walked on past the guards, Glory Girl in tow.

Lisa gave me a 'holy shit' sorta look.

"She can tell if someone's a parahuman? But—" Lisa looked at at me, then back to Panacea vanishing into the bowels of the PRT building.

I grit my teeth. "Lies! She's probably just bitter over what I said at the Endbringer thing."

Lisa looked me over for a few seconds more before shaking her head slowly. In a serious voice, she said, "No, she was telling the truth. Or… at least she thinks she was?" She rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Today's just been full of surprises."

Again, I looked to Lisa for… anything, really. I would have even taken mocking derision if it helped explain things to me.

"Look," I said, trying to gain a sense of control, "whatever it means, we'll figure it out later. For now—" I looked to the guards. "You can think of a way out of this, right? Some asshole's inside there, pretending to be me, and he's about to steal my dog. We've gotta do something. Save the day. Be real heroes."

Lisa gave me this long, almost sad look, until she finally said, "You know I'm not a hero, right?"

My heart felt cold. A part of me, somehow, recognized that look—it was the same sort that Simone had given me the night she'd cut me.

A dim species of recognition pooled in my mind. In that moment, I didn't have to be Void Cowboy to know what was going on.

I uttered a dim laugh. More of a short bark than anything else. I could feel a sudden, knowing grin forming on my face, almost beyond my control. "This is—this is the part where you betray me, isn't it?"

Someone walked out of the PRT building just then. He looked like a gunslinger, his face partially obscured by a red bandana. The guards nodded to him.

I knew who he was immediately, and if I had any doubts, they vanished as soon as he spoke. I'd recognize Regent's voice anywhere. "Hey, there you are," he said, looking at Tattletale. "The ceremony's about to begin. Was wondering where you were."

Something inside me broke. I could feel a swelling desire to ball my hands into fists, drink a bottle of whiskey, and try as hard as could I could to not remember whatever mistakes I wanted to make came next morning.

"Oh hey," he went on. "Thanks for keeping my girl safe, bro. I know I asked on short notice, but it's real nice to know I got a dedicated team player making sure no one lays a hand on her."

Had my mouth always been this dry? Maybe I'd been shoveling in cotton balls without realizing it.

Lisa walked over to me. "I told you at the beginning. This wasn't a date."

No, it was a job.

She stood on her tippy toes and whispered, "The truth is, I'm really fucking tired of screwing over people who don't deserve it."

Clenching my fists and gritting my teeth, I watched her walk away to join Regent at the entrance. With each step she took, Lisa added more sparks to the fire in my gut. With each footfall, each girly sway of her hips, I wanted to wrap my hands around her throat tighter and tighter until something broke.

I decided that the next time a girl says she likes me, I would just skip finding out how she planned to fuck me over and go straight to the part where I head home, get shitfaced, and try my best to never think about her again.

Regent, though. For him, I had a sudden desire to see how much effort it took to dig my thumbs into his eye sockets. Maybe, just maybe, if I'd bothered to invest in a hip flask, I'd already be well on my way to finding out.

Since eyes were involved, I wondered if TayTay could give me any pointers.

At the last second, Lisa turned her head to me and said, "For what it's worth... I'm sorry, Cowboy."

The door closed heavily behind them.


	12. Chapter 11: With Friends Like These…

Chapter 11: With Friends Like These…

— 35—  
Timeline A (A Nice Date)

"Invitation?"

The guard Carlyle gave me quite a serious look. "You did remember to bring it, right?'

I just sort of stared at him. "I… didn't know I was supposed to bring one."

Lisa slapped me on the shoulder. When I looked over, she rolled her eyes. "He's just messing with us."

Carlyle grinned sheepishly. "Yeah. Head right on in. They're about to start. And Void Cowboy?" Our eyes met. "Good luck."

— 36 —  
Timeline B (Betrayal)

"Ooosh! That's harsh, kid." Carlyle looked like he'd just bit into a lemon as he spoke. "I don't even care anymore if you're playing dress-up. That was cold."

Geoff, the other officer, nodded. "Stone cold bitch if you ask me. Reminds me of my ex-wife." He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "And my current wife."

"Dude, you have a problem," Carlyle said to his partner.

"I'm a shit judge of character in hot girls." Geoff gave an almost helpless shrug. "So sue me."

As they spoke, I stood there, taking deep breaths. My hands still shook, desperate for something to grasp, something to _crush_. It was a good thing my body seemed to have frozen up, because otherwise I'd be screaming.

Regent—that traitor—and Tattletale—that _bitch_ —thought they'd gotten the best of me. But I was Void Cowboy. And I wasn't going to take this lying down.

I eyed the guards cautiously, eventually deciding to walk away from them for a bit. Regent and Panacea may have fucked my chances of getting in as Void Cowboy, but the event was still open to the public. They might let me in later, in civilian clothes, but first they needed to forget about me. And if they saw what I was about to do, they'd probably try to stop me.

I left the PRT building, crossed the park, and found a conveniently located dark alley across the street, next to the café. The place struck me as surprisingly clean, and pleasantly secluded, complete with a big dumpster to hide behind.

In a sense, the alley was actually _too_ convenient. I had to wonder if this area had been built near the PRT building specifically to serve as an easy-to-reach costume change location.

Or maybe they anticipated villains would use this—I checked for cameras before making my move. Thankfully, the place was clean.

After one last pass no one was coming, I removed the costume. Duster, bandana, and hat went into my bag, a bit snugly. I hoped the hat wouldn't end up ruined from stuffing it in there. My mask went into my pocket, so I could snap it back on should the need arise.

Void Cowboy no more All we had now was Greg Veder, creeping around in a dark alley, which somehow seemed totally in-character for me.

That all done, I took out my smartphone and went to PHO.

I still had Piggot's PHO contact information, and Vista's. Plus, there was that whole thread about this event. A couple of posts from the real Void Cowboy and—bam!—the whole website might well and truly erupt in a shitshow so big there wasn't no way the PRT could ignore it.

— 37 —  
Timeline A

"I thought this would be harder," I said to Lisa, walking through the PRT building's front lobby.

"Hmm?" she hummed. "Sorry, but if you're looking for a 'that's what she said,' you should have invited Regent."

I flashed her a look. "It's just… for a minute back there, it seemed like you were having second thoughts. Wanting to go a movie or something."

Lisa shook her head, then took my arm with a smile. "It's nothing to worry about. Trust me."

"Trust you?" I asked. "Okay, now I just _know_ you're hiding something." I poked her and said in my hammiest voice, "By the fearsome powers of the Void, I compel you: reveal your secrets!"

She just laughed.

— 38 —  
Timeline B

"'The username or password you have entered is incorrect', huh?"

I tried to reset my password, only to find my email account no longer tolerated my shit anymore, either.

Fuck you, Tattletale.

Okay, so. I could create a burner email and a throwaway account on PHO, wait up to ten minutes for a confirmation email, then write out a post which probably wouldn't even be believed, or I could do something more productive.

I thought of every non-Undersider who knew my secret identity: Emma, Sophia, Dinah, and Simone. And of those, I had numbers for Emma and Dinah. I'd only contacted Simone through PHO, and that was a bust—which was kinda sad, since siccing the crazy telekinetic on the Undersiders sounded really cathartic right now. But on the other hand, Simone had stabbed my face, and she'd probably do it again if given enough reason.

Maybe Shadow Stalker could help me out? She was a C-list cape at best, but allies were allies.

Pacing up and down the alley, I dialed Emma.

She never picked up.

I called Dinah. Maybe she was inside and could put me through to Vista. I didn't know. It was _something_.

She never picked up either.

My mind's eye conjured up images of Tattletale using my hacked PHO account to post things in my name, keeping up the pretense that nothing was wrong here. And then using my email to sign up for gay porn and send spam.

What could I do?

Who could I…

I recalled a little something I had on me. I opened my wallet and pulled out Kaiser's business card.

Coil would fuck the Empire over, right? I might be able to leverage that to gain some Nazi muscle on my side, if only from the shadows. There's no way this could go wrong, right? Eh, it couldn't be worse than Simone, and I'd been willing to consider her as an option.

I sighed and dialed him up.

It picked up almost instantly. What struck me as a pre-recorded and cheery man spoke up, but it wasn't Kaiser's voice. This guy sounded like he'd spent the last few years gargling razor blades and gravel.

"You've reached the automated voice messaging system of the Empire 88. For service in English, press one. Um auf Deutsch fortzufahren, drücken Sie bitte die Zwei. For any other language, go back to your own country."

I wondered if I had dialed the number right. This _was_ what was written on the card. Was there an extension I was supposed to type?

I pressed one.

"Hello and fourteen-eighty-eight, goy," the same man said. "For personal matters or urgent Empire business, press one. To schedule an appointment with a member, or for non-urgent Empire business, press two. If you'd like to report or receive help dealing with an uppity kike, a pack of feral niggers, or other undermen hurting honest white folk, press three to be transferred to our Racial Supremacy Hotline. For all other matters, or to speak to an operator, press the pound key."

I just sort of stared at my phone, unsure of what was really going on.

At length, I pressed pound. And then I waited for a solid minute, listening to it ring, with no one answering. I think I could hear Wagner playing in the background.

God dammit, Kaiser! I did _not_ have time for this!

— 39 —  
Timeline A

"So, you're the famous Void Cowboy." Vista stepped up to me as I was looking for my place. The blonde superheroine wore a costume with a skirt covered in wavy, swooping lines alternating between white and forest green. A green visor covered her eyes. "I'm on celebrity escort duty, so I'll show you where everything is tonight."

"Where's Puppy Arson?" I asked immediately.

"I—um, somewhere nearby? I meant show you to your seat and stuff."

"I don't think he came here for a seat," Lisa said with a smirk, stepping slightly between Vista and me.

I couldn't quite tell what Vista's face was doing under her visor, but I got the impression she was shooting Lisa a glare. But she quickly put on a smile and held out a hand. "Vista. And you are?"

The other girl shook it. "Lisa; I'm his plus-one for the evening." Then she casually added, "Not sure why he needs another date."

"Huh?" Visita sputtered. "No, no, that's not what this is. I'm just here to—"

"Stay by him constantly, whisper in his ear, learn all his secrets? That's my job." She'd gone full-on grin now and was looking at Vista as if gauging a rival—or using her power.

"Wh—"

"He's cute. Friendly. Mysterious. I can see why you like him." Lisa shot her a wink. "If you ever decide to take this 'escort duty' seriously, we'll just have to rock-paper-scissors over who goes home with him afterwards."

Vista very clearly took a deep breath, unclenched her fists, and turned to me with a well-rehearsed smile. Ignoring Lisa, she said, "Could you please come this way? We're about to get started."

— 40 —  
Timeline B

Okay, Kaiser was a bust. Just an endless waiting room of nothing. But at least the music was nice.

So, what other options could I pull out of my ass? Think, Greg, think!

Then it occurred to me. There was one other girl whose number I had, but it was even less likely she'd answer.

Jesus, I was desperate.

After three long rings, someone picked up.

"Hello, Hebert household. Danny speaking. Can I help you?"

Well, this was only slightly worse than silence.

"Hi, Mr. Hebert," I replied, trying to seem like just another teen boy calling a teenage daughter. I could barely keep my voice from shaking. "Taylor gave me this number. Could you put her on, please? It's Greg, from school. We have World Studies together."

"Hmm," he hummed.

My hand wrapped tighter and tighter around the phone.

"Hmmmm," he went on, drawing out the sound.

"Mr. Hebert, please," I said. "It's important."

"Important, is it?" he asked, languidly.

I tapped a foot on the concrete, as if trying to drum up a spell to make him skip speaking and get on with it.

"Well. I wonder what important things a strange boy would be calling my daughter about on a Friday night."

"Oh god," I muttered. "Look… someone I thought was my friend just completely screwed me over, and I don't know who else to call. I just need some help."

"Come to think of it," he went on, as if pointedly ignoring my pleas, "I think I do remember Taylor mentioning you, Greg, from World Studies. You're that new friend of Emma's." He didn't sound happy with that.

I wasn't sure what to say to get out of this, but… "If I promise not to screw with your daughter in any way, will you please please please put her on the phone?"

"If there's one thing I've learned it's that vague declarations of goodwill aren't worth the paper they're written on. Give me something concrete."

God dammit, Danny! You may be father of the year, but you sure are a hardass when it comes to bargaining. Then again, you're a union rep; I really shouldn't be surprised.

I tried not to growl. "I'll tell them to stop? I'll convince them Taylor is actually scary and they should leave her alone?"

"How about the next time you see them prank her, you back her up when she reports it to the principal?"

I grit my teeth. A part of me hoped that whatever prank the girls pulled next would be something small, like pencil shavings on Taylor's chair. If it was so minor that she didn't bother to complain, I'd still be fulfilling my oath, right? I'd pretty much be off the hook.

Except… no. Trust was everything. Tattletale had taught me that, even if it wasn't her intention. Void Cowboy was better than that. _I_ was better that that.

"My word is my bond, Mr Hebert, especially when given man-to-man. Consider it done."

TayTay had better pull through for me after this.

Danny yelled for his daughter.

I paced back and forth around the dumpster until I heard Taylor go, "Hello?"

"Taylor," I said, sounding stern. "I need a favor."

"Oh, hi, Greg. Nice to hear from you. How's it going? Pleasant weather we're having." I really hoped to god she wasn't grinning malevolently over on her end.

I tried to contain a growing temper by walking around the alley, only a little faster now. "Are you watching the news? The whole Void Cowboy and Puppy Arson thing?"

"Yeah," she replied. "I feel kind of bad for Armsmaster. They're really dragging him through the mud over this. But look, Greg. I'm a busy girl. Lots of exciting things to do on a Friday night, so if you'd let me know what you want in… twenty words or less? That'd be super."

Finally, someone who wasn't going to jerk me around all night. This was only our second real conversation, but already I could see hints of the girl she would become, at least when she was willing to show some spine.

I was still thinking of how to phrase this quickly when she started humming… was that the Jeopardy theme? God dammit, Taylor!

In a forced voice I said, "Message Winged_One on PHO. Tell her to call me." I gave her my number. "It's urgent."

"What should I say this is about?" she asked. "And why can't you do it yourself?"

"Supervillainess hijacked my account," I told her, "and I don't have Winged_One's real life number."

"What'd you do to piss off a supervillain?" she asked, almost incredulous, then after a moment added, "Wait, you're Greg. If anyone could find a way, it's you."

— 41 —  
Timeline A

Lisa's phone vibrated. She glanced at Vista, who sat on the other side of me.

I took my attention off the stage. Even with my position in the front row, there wasn't anything to see. The event hadn't really begun in force yet.

"Hi, daddy," Lisa said as she put the phone to her ear.

Grue?

The phone's volume had been turned down so low I could only barely make out a threatening murmur on the other end.

Lisa responded cheerily. "Oh, I'm just out enjoying a little date. I lost track of time a little bit, but he had so many interesting things to say. You know how it is."

The indistinct words sounded angrier now.

No, it was almost certainly Coil. I shifted in place and glanced to Vista, who tried to look like she wasn't watching us from the corner of her eye.

Lisa hmmed thoughtfully. "No, I don't think I'll make it home for dinner tonight. Leave some lasagna in the fridge for me?"

Some longer utterance on the other side of the phone, and then Lisa replied with, "Whatever you think is best, daddy. Take care!" She ended the call.

When she noticed me staring, Lisa gave me a sheepish look. "I'm grounded. Apparently he doesn't approve of my choice of dates, and I was supposed to be home an hour ago. Oops."

With that, she held the power button on her phone until it played its little "turning off" jingle.

"Grounded?" I asked. With Coil that could mean anything from 'no more missions for a while' to 'I'm locking you up in my dungeon, and you'll never see daylight again'.

Lisa grinned. "It's kind of funny. He sometimes gets this really scary look like he's thinking about torturing me, breaking my bones, burying me alive—standard dad stuff, really—but he never… actually… does it."

The grin died completely, replaced by a sick look as the blood drained from her face. Hello, dawning realization of Coil's power. "Oh. I—I think I'm going to be sick." She glanced around almost frantically before darting off, saying something about washrooms.

Vista gave me a look. "And I thought my parents were strict. She, uh, she was joking, right? 'Cause she didn't look like she was joking."

— 42 —  
Timeline B

When I picked up the phone, all I heard was decidedly feminine breathing.

I sighed with some exaggeration. "Y'know, Simone, that's real creepy and I'd like ya to stop."

Her breath hitched on the other side. And then: "I'm sorry. I wanted to say your name, but..."

"Look," I said, "I don't like you, and you don't like me. But right now we need to put aside our differences to rescue a small dog."

"It's not a dog," she blurted out.

"Excuse me?"

"Just a suspicion," she replied. "But… does _anything_ about this seem right to you?"

"I'm not following. Are you high?"

"Oh." She sounded a bit on the down side again. "I've been drinking a little. Sorry. Daddy's not here, and—"

"I need. Your help," I told her slowly, leaning up against the alley wall.

Simone shut up. I could hear—oh god, was she _still_ drinking? Just what the hell was with everybody tonight?

"Put the booze away, Simone," I commanded.

This was the point where a lesser man might question the wisdom of inviting what sounded like a friendless, drunk, emotionally shattered teenage cape to crash a party and fight a bunch of supervillains. But fortunately, I was Void Cowboy, a man of action; such self-doubt stood beneath me.

Besides, I _really_ wanted to get my dog back. And whatever happened to the Undersiders because of this, they deserved it.

"If I do this," she asked slowly, as if trying to enunciate properly, "can we be friends again?"

I let the silence speak for itself.

Simone's voice got quieter. "How about… A hug? A pat on the head and you tell me I 'done good'?"

"I can offer you a bottle of Jack Daniel's Tennessee whiskey. Honey flavor."

The girl didn't say anything for what felt like the longest time. When she did, it was a choked out "No" that was hardly more than a whisper.

"What?" I demanded, my jaw hanging. "You can't say no! You have a guilt complex over cutting my face up! Why else would you be drinking yourself into a stupor?"

"Actually, I just think wine tastes good, and I don't got school tomorrow. In fact," she went on, "all my friends are over and we're having a great time."

Friends. Yeah, right. "Put one of them on."

"Nuh-uh."

"Simone, I'm pretty sure all I hear on your end is a miserable girl drinking alone."

"My life doesn't revolve around you!"

I sighed. In a dim way, I realized what I was dealing with here, a demon that haunted me just as strongly: pride. I decided to let it go and wracked my mind for something else to say. "So, uh, how's Sir Henthrope doing?"

"It turns out plants don't eat pasta," she replied in an almost hollow tone.

"Well, how about the other one, the, uh…"

"Admiral von Tubbywitz. Turns out plants don't like wine, either."

"Geeze," I breathed. "It's like all your friends are dying left and right."

"No, they'll live," she said. "They've been with me a while, and… the Admiral will help Sir Henthrope pull through. He always does."

She'd mentioned that before, too, back at her house. I suspected some sort of backstory the original Greg would have understood, but it just went over my head.

"So…" I started. I wanted to ask her to help with the Undersiders, spell out why I needed her telekinetic powers. But it just didn't feel like the right time. "I don't think I ever had the chance to ask, but… how did you know I wasn't Greg?"

Simone uttered a bitter chuckle. "I knew him for a long time, and you're not as subtle as you think. You missed a lot of stuff. Plus, your personality is..."

"Better?" I offered. "More manly?"

"Was gonna say less self-absorbed, but that's not true. You're the same, but in different ways. Maaaybe I could say you're a _bit_ sweeter. Maybe."

"Sweet?" I almost scoffed. "I make it my a policy a' mine to never be sweet to a girl, lest she get the wrong idea."

"Oh, please. You found a beat-up girl in the music room and pretty much carried her home. And then you listened to me pour my heart out over some old junk—even if I could tell you didn't really get it, at least you didn't make fun. That sounds pretty sweet to me."

"You must be mistaken. Real men don't do 'sweet'. We just _do_ , and let onlookers come to their own conclusions."

"Now you sound like dad," she sighed. Then, in a faux-macho voice: "Simone, a real man doesn't lead by example. He leads by example _and_ his enormous dick."

I laughed, shaking my head. "You're right; the old man _does_ sound like me."

Simone giggled, somehow managing to sound like she was slurring every breath. She paused, and I could imagine her wiping a tear from her eye before she said, "That's one thing Greg never understood. He had a crush on this one girl for the longest time, but never asked her out. Though I'm kind of happy he didn't."

"What did you see in him, anyway?"

"Other than someone as weird and socially retarded as me?" She let out a little sigh. "A friend. You can look up our chat history on PHO if you're curious."

I considered that I might actually do that.

She continued, "But tell you what, Void Cowboy. Because you've been soooo sweet to me, I'll make you a deal. Tell me your name—your real name—and I'll help you out, just for tonight."

At that, I paused. My eyes darted up the alley walls, as if somewhere high above would give me an out. I had hardly thought of my actual name since coming here, let alone said it aloud. Worst of all, I'd be giving it to a borderline drunk—a girl who, only a few days prior, had stabbed me—in exchange for helping me beat up a team of villains.

But it was that or try to fight the Undersiders on my own. And as a group, they'd kicked pretty much everyone's ass up to and including the proto-Endbringer Noelle.

I'd need all every advantage I could get to defeat them.

"Well," I said with a sigh, "I reckon you can call me Eric."

"Nice to meet you, Eric," she said, sounding courteous and proper as could be. Then, in a more normal voice: "And... about what I did back in the kitchen: I still feel awful about it. I won't try to make excuses, so… I'm sorry. And I really do like you."

"You still want to be friends, huh? Hang out, get drunk, be generally unproductive?"

"Uh… I guess? It's either that or I buy a cat."

"Egads," I said in a faux voice of horror. "But it looks like I'm in need of a new plus one for the evening. Care to take my arm and offer?"

"You bet I do!" she practically yelled.

"Just this once, mind you—don't go getting the wrong idea. And don't screw this up, y'hear?"

"Aye, aye, cap'n!" she replied. "This is gonna be the best night ever!"

As I ended the call, I was sure I wasn't going to regret anything.

* * *

a/n Surely asking Simone for help can't be a bad thing! Also, damn dad points for Danny, doing the work for his daughter. It sure seems like the Simurgh interrupting Greg's lapdance was the best thin that ever happened to Taylor. But, knowing Greg here, this is gonna go... poorly. Let's watch and find out!

* * *

Comment of the Week: GeekNasty

 _"Point is, you don't want to touch any of the girls in I, Greg. I'm pretty sure Taylor bites!"_  
 _That's what I'm talking about! Worm is all about suffering. I'm kinda hoping Jerry "Aryan vs Predator" Veder is gunna set his son up on a blind date with a hotsie totsie nazi. I can only imagine how bad a date with Rune could turn out._

Watch as Greg goes on a blind date with Rune. The two of them just sort of stare at each other. Then, from the distance, the howling of Simone.

"There's only room in this town for one blonde telekinetic!" she shouts, bursting through the window. And oh god she's biting Rune!

Greg just takes out his wallets and throws $1 bills at the two wrestling girls.

Actually, no joke, just for that, Simone is gonna go steal Rune's Persian rug and use it to fly around on. Heck you, Rune!


	13. Chapter 12: Who Needs Enemies?

Chapter 12: Who Needs Enemies?

 _"No, Alexandria, it's not enough to save the world. It has to be a world worth living in."  
_ —Contessa

 _"Dog Whisperer Renewed for Second Season"  
_ —Headline, Brockton Bay Herald

— 43—  
Timeline A (A Nice Date)

"What."

When Lisa spoke, it wasn't a question.

"You heard me," I said, trying not to crash the stolen ice cream truck as I sped down the highway. "Right, boy?"

From the back of the truck, in a pile of explosives, Puppy Arson barked. I was pretty sure those hadn't been there when we got in. Maybe he was a cape after all.

"Think about it, Lisa. Coil's using two realities to dick me over."

"Uh-huh," she said, pressing herself into the seat. As much from inertia as fear I'd kill us all.

"This is his 'backup' universe. His safe one, so to speak. You follow?"

"Coil is a nice guy, Greg. A villain with a heart of gold. He wouldn't do something like that."

I stared at her, surprised she could say that with a straight face.

"Road, road!" she shouted.

I looked forwards in time to swerve out of the way of a slow-going minivan. Screw you, affordable family transportation!

She let out a breath. "He was going to make me betray you. Stab you in the back. Twist the knife."

"Yeah, but you didn't," I said with a wink.

"Not in _this_ timeline. And mostly because Coil ordered me not to."

I grinned. "Mostly? So ya do like me."

"What's not to like?" she asked, shrugging. "I always wanted an excuse to make my life more complicated."

My grin widened. "Anyhow, Lis', we all know Coil's a dick. That's why we're wrecking his safe timeline. Now, pass me some ice cream. I don't gotta care 'bout my gains here much longer."

"Seriously?"

I didn't answer.

She looked into the back. "Sorry, but I only see empty buckets. And explosives. Also, if you're gonna make the betrayal timeline real—well, if you'd go to _these_ lengths to get back at Coil, what'll you do to me?"

I reached out and tousled her hair. "Oh please. It's just a matter with a dog. Ain't no reality where I overreact to _that_. Anyhow, you're cool and I like ya. Other me will understand."

Lisa looked thoughtful for a moment. "I hope so."

"Well, worst come worst, when we meet Coil, we'll ask him to give other timeline me a message."

"Which'll be?"

"'Don't hold it against Lisa. No hard feelings from this side. In fact, do yourself a favor and ask her to come see a movie with you Saturday night.'"

"A _date_ date?"

The words hung in air.

Only thing that broke the silence was a truck honking at me when I blew a red light.

"At least promise you'll let me drive," she added.

"Ask no promises, I'll tell you no lies," I singsonged. "Besides, you said your powers get kinda fuzzy around me. If anyone can lock lips with you over a chick flick, it's me."

"Awfully sure of yourself."

"The powers of the Void ain't never wrong."

Lisa rolled her eyes and sighed, but she couldn't totally hide her smile.

I grinned. "As for tonight, since we're gonna lose this universe anyway, you should totally let me touch your boobs. For good luck."

— 44 —  
Timeline B (Betrayal)

In person, the PRT building was a little less dinky than I had first assumed. Sort of like someone had tried to turn a military bunker into a squat, six-story office building, complete with all the joy that might imply.

I could see the front lobby from the fountain, visible through a wide array of glass. Or maybe it wasn't glass. This was Worm, after all. It was probably some transparent tinkertech polymer, thin enough to let bureaucrats have their lovely view of Brockton Bay's downtown, but sturdy enough for when your local villains came a-knocking.

I flipped a coin to see if the place would survive the night.

Abraham Lincoln was convinced it would; I had my doubts.

Still, wondering how long before I ended up on a terrorist watchlist alongside my dog kept me from worrying. More specifically, worrying about the girl currently doubled over by the fountain, panting.

Simone Morgan. Despite the fact she must have jogged halfway across the city, her platinum blonde hair was in order, complementing her lacey (yet deeply conservative) red and black dress.

Despite the cape related shenanigans to come, she wore no mask. Not even a pair of Clark Kent glasses.

I thought about what to say. Glad you could make it? Took you long enough? Nothing seemed right, so I held my silence.

When she caught her breath she gave me this weird little smile. "I flew here as fast as I could. And boy are my arms tired!"

Just like that, I remembered who I was dealing with: a girl so awkward, so dorky, that she could only be friends with Greg.

"That was so bad I think I had a trigger event," I said flatly.

Simone just pouted.

With a sigh and a weak smile, I added, "But I'm glad you showed."

She beamed and took a step forwards, widening her arms to hug me.

I stopped her with a hand to her forehead. "Uh-uh, sugarbuns. If we're going to do this, we need to set some ground rules." I reached into my pocket for a napkin with some things scribbled on it beforehand. "This here's a restraining order. You're not to come within arm's reach of me the entire night. That goes double for telekinetic stabbing."

The girl gave me a suspicious look and snatched the napkin out of my hands. "Why is there fudge on the restraining order?"

"Because my last date betrayed me for her evil supervillain master and now I need to wreak my vengeance against her." I did my best to concisely describe the events of the night, and my reason for bringing her here.

When I finished, I saw that her eyes had gone unfocused.

"Simone?" I poked her forehead, and she started back to normal.

"Oh yeah hey. You were boring, so I took a little nap."

"Nap?" It occurred to me that she must've been hitting the booze pretty hard when I'd called her earlier. I hoped this wouldn't come back to bite me.

"Doesn't matter. Did you bring the watermelon I asked for?"

I gestured to the fountain, where it was sitting. "Yeah. But I'm pretty sure the only melon vendor around at this hour was some shifty, nervous guy. Probably an ABB spy."

"Maybe he was nervous because fruit stands are often the first victims of a cape fight."

I had to concede that. "In any case, he sold those weird Japanese square melons. Why did you want one?"

Ignoring my question, Simone went over to the watermelon. She placed her hands on its sides, leaning in a little to inspect it with intent, even turning it.

She nodded. "Good. I see you got the right one." She gave it a gentle pat, then carried on towards the PRT building, just leaving my hard-earned Japanese melon there on the fountain.

"Wait, Simone, what are you doing?"

She counted off her fingers: "Tattletale betrayed you after a fake date, Bitch is stealing your dog, and Regent looks better than you in a duster. What do you think I'm doing?"

"Marching up to the PRT building without a plan," I said, but by then it was too late.

One the PRT guards, Carlyle, looked us over and whistled. "Geeze. Found a backup date already, kid? That was hella fast."

"I'm like a vagina wizard," I said. "They just sorta appear. Please send help."

Simone smiled at him. "Am I at least cuter than the last one?"

The man opened his mouth, only to pause. "Actually, I am gay. _Very_ gay. I wouldn't know. But, uh—" he turned to his coworker, who seemed a hair's breadth away from facepalming "—how 'bout that sodomy, amirite?"

"C'mon," I said, putting a hand on Simone's shoulder and pushing her forwards. "Let's stop flirting with the guards and get on inside." Then, once we were inside and out of earshot: "Alright, so we need a—Simone, stop!"

She glanced at me without stopping and continued her way through the lobby. "Nah. Time's a-wasting, Eric. We gotta find them that stole the pope."

"My _puppy_."

"Pope. Pup. They're all dogs to me," she dismissed with a wave of the hand.

"You know I'm Catholic, right? Although, admittedly, I'm more of the grumpy 'Vatican II was a mistake, bring back the sexy Latin' kind of Catholic."

Simone put her hands on her hips and paused, looking around. "So, where's the pup thing?" she asked loudly.

I gestured to the sign that read _Event this way_. "Had I to guess, that-a-way."

She pulled out a walkie-talkie from somewhere and offered it to me. "Take this. You go there, I'll check out the hall on the right."

"Why?"

"I'm drunk. You're _Eric_. There's no way this won't go wrong, and I need to know what we're up against when it does."

I reluctantly accepted her gift. "Reckon that makes sense."

"Goodie. I'll find best places to fight. Props to use. You do your Void Cowboy magic."

With that my heavy artillery up and walked away, leaving me in the middle of a lobby.

A traitorous part of me wanted to just go home for the night. No, really. The Undersiders would get my dog, but I could steal him back later.

There was something almost appealing to that idea. It felt like months since the night began, and I'd had time to cool of a hair. I could be in bed in less than an hour. I could probably even convince Simone to call off this whole crazy stunt, if I radioed her right now.

Honest to God.

A distant barking murdered that train of thought.

Tonight had Coil's fingerprints all over it, from the faux date, to the guards at the door watching for fake Void Cowboys. What if the pup _didn't_ end up with Bitch and the Undersiders? What if I couldn't just steal him back later?

Like hell I was going to let my little guy fall into that man's hands, however indirectly.

I could imagine it all too easily. Puppy Arson, locked away in a dank, evil basement, forced to become Coil's pet. Roll over. Beg. Six more bombs, and you can have your doggy treat. Like his very own personal… what's her name? The Asian gang bomb girl. Bakuda?

Like his very own personal Bakuda!

I wasn't about to let that happen.

— 45 —

I found myself in a wide hallway that branched off. The hallway's end had a "Puppy Arson Return Ceremony" sign outside it. The path to my left held scores of people, packed tightly together, waiting in line outside some sort of conference room.

I asked someone there what gave, and he replied, "It's the line to hang out with Void Cowboy and that dog, y'know? And buy the t-shirts."

"Wait, t-shirts?"

The guy nodded. "Merchandising and all that. All proceeds to go victims of PRT oppression."

In other words, pizza and video game money for Regent. Maybe for some of the other Undersiders as well. Though, to be fair, the cause wasn't _entirely_ misleading, even it it was entirely misleading.

"It's like Spaceballs all over again," I said, shaking my head. "Why would you even _want_ one?"

"Cuz Void Cowboy's awesome," he said simply. "He's like a rebel, man, but he isn't a villain. Ya dig? Plus, the girl he's with is pretty hot."

Not a villain? Goddammit, Regent. I bet the t-shirts were stolen, too.

"Fair enough," I said, trying not to look as angry as I felt.

I walked down the hallway, radioing Simone to give her the skinny.

"Nice," she said, and that was it.

"Ya didn't say over, over."

"Hey!" she snapped. "I already used our one nightly cliché joke allotment. Don't go into overdraft."

"Excuse me for loving the classics," I grumbled back. Then, after a moment: "Over."

She didn't reply.

I sighed and focused back on the line, which was too big and packed for me to make any headway through. And if it was that crowded, it would be too slow for Regent and Tattletale to use for escape. Assuming this was the one thing they were actually competent at, was there another door leading out from the room? If so, maybe I could find it by circling through the building.

That started with the room at the end of the hall. I poked my head through and saw an auditorium that was all but empty. I looked around inside, trying to see what doors led out from it.

On the far side of the large room lay an empty stage, and in the foreground stood a large playpen, next to a rack of brochures.

In front of the pen stood Vista and Aegis. They were talking. I stayed there in the doorway, listening in, on the off chance I could glean something useful. I had to resist humming the James Bond theme, despite my spy-like antics.

I failed to resist, but still, I _tried_.

"You were the one who said you could do this," Aegis said like an asshole. Vista looked like she were trying to shrink back, as if her own power could be used on herself. "You said you'd spoken to him before and could win him over to our side."

"I didn't mean it like that," she tried, fighting with her hands. "I just thought…"

Aegis gave her a look her until she went silent. It was the look of a father who's just realized his son doesn't have any friends and spends all his time jerking it to anime. Probably Pokémon.

He continued. "You keep wanting us to treat you like you're more mature, but—"

I'd seen enough. My footfalls purposely echoed harshly in the large room. There was only one guy allowed to harass cute girls in this building, and it sure as hell wasn't Aegis.

Aegis paused to look at me and asked, "Can I help you, sir?"

He was all smiles now, with this smooth, pleasant tone of voice. I could almost imagine I hadn't seen what was just happening. Maybe underneath the mask he was like Sophia? I hardly knew a thing about him, considering he died to Leviathan before he could get an interlude.

Regardless, it was time to work my Void Cowboy magic.

"Well," I said, pretending like there wasn't a bit of tension anywhere in sight, "I got me here a mite bit late. Any idea where Puppy Arson's gone off to?"

Aegis pointed back the way I'd come. "Void Cowboy requested a private room for meeting his fans. You probably passed it on the way here."

I knew that. Maybe he knew I knew. But when I was around, Vista stood a bit straighter. Had to look good for the public.

He cleared his throat in a "you can go now" way, but I just stood there, smiling at the two of them until it became awkward. Had to maintain eye contact. Assert my dominance.

Aegis turned his body more in my direction, crossing his arms. It gave me the distinct impression that he really wanted me to bugger off in the most PR approved way possible. I wondered who he'd learned it from. Piggot, maybe? Suddenly I imagined the horror of her giving _mandatory_ lessons—it'd be like dancing with whales! The PRT was truly the worst kind of hell.

"So," he said at length, shuffling his feet, "was there anything else, sir?"

"Actually, yeah, now that'cha mention it," I said, shooting Aegis a grin, "I'm a big fan of Vista. Mind if I got me her autograph?"

He glanced at the blonde beside him. Before he could saying anything, Vista let out a cheerful "Sure" and bounded towards me.

Aegis folded and unfolded his arms a few times before uncomfortably walking away, and pretending to take a call.

Mission accomplished!

Vista pulled out a marker from seemingly nowhere, and I had to wonder if she used her power for extra storage space when at rest. Was that even possible? And if she suddenly went unconscious, would she explode like a piñata of random goodies? Or maybe it was just good costume design.

"So," she said, looking me over, "did you want me to sign your shirt, or…"

Crap. Did not think this through. I looked at my shirt—one of my many white cotton undershirts. A glance at the marker told me it wasn't the kind that would wash out.

"Uh, sure. That works," I told her.

Vista reached up and signed her cape name right over my pecs. Then she worked on beautifying it with all manner of little doodles and flourishes. A star there, a heart here, a fluffy cloud on that spot.

She glanced back towards Aegis before hastily getting to a work on a unicorn. She had just gotten out another marker and started coloring her shapes in when I cleared my throat.

"Job suck that bad, huh?" I said.

"Not really. I love it here."

Insincerity, thy name is Vista. I preferred the one that messaged me over PHO. That Vista brought me puppy pictures and hadn't looked about a hair's breadth from grinding her teeth into dust.

"And how much does the PRT pay you to say that?"

Vista made the unicorn's butt pink, pressing the maker into me with more force. "Technically it's a salary."

"So what'll it take to get you to drop the whole 'PR approved' act and actually express you yourself?"

She reached into a pocket and came out with a tube thingy, which she rolled across my chest. It was like a pen with a ball on the end, and it was sticky. Smelled like glue.

"I _am_ expressing myself," Vista said, stabbing me particularly hard with the roller. It went back in the pocket. In its stead she brought out a handful of glitter, which ended up all stuck to my shirt in bold lines radiating out from where it said "#1 fan".

I was _so_ going to have to burn this shirt when I got home, lest the unicorn and sparkles make my testosterone drop, thus ruining my /fit/ gains.

Or maybe I'd sell it on Ebay.

Whichever was faster.

I glanced over to where Aegis had been. "Hey look, your dreaded companion got bored and wandered off."

She followed my gaze, then let out a long sigh. Capping her marker, she said, "Oh thank goodness. These supplies aren't cheap."

"Hostile working environment?"

Vista made to answer, but snapped her mouth shut at the last minute. She swallowed and looked about to say something, only for my radio to crackle.

"Hey," came Simone's voice. "I scoured my half of the PRT up to the place where they told me not to go. You know you can ride the elevator up to the top floor, but you're not allowed to get out up there?" Then after a moment, she added with an audible grin, " _Under._ "

That bitch!

Vista stared at me. I imagined she looked mighty confused under that visor of hers.

Slowly I took out the radio. "Hey, Simmy. Still trying to find Puppy Arson. Over."

Her reply came immediately. "Alright. My side was mostly nothing. Would make a good fighting arena, though. Oh, and did you know they got a gift shop? Armsmaster has his own line of steak knives here, next to the Miss Militia scarves. I'm looking up reviews for the knives on my phone, so hold up before you do the puppy stuff, okay?"

The radio crackle faded.

"So," I said to Vista, as convincingly as I could manage, "we're, uh, pretty big fans of Void Cowboy. 'Cause he's a rebel, without being a villain. Y'dig?" I gave her a hopeful smile.

"Uh-huh," she said.

I spoke into the radio again, trying to avoid Vista's glare. "I didn't find the Puppy Arson line per se, but I did run into Vista and Aegis. Aegis left, but Vista's here. Over."

"Cool. Hope you got her autograph. Also, the reviews for the Armsmaster knives are terrible. Break in half for literally no reason. Think I'll steal a set to be sure, and then I'll steal a second for when the first one breaks."

"No, Simmy," I said with an edge to my voice.

"Yes me. Also, I asked around. Seems like the only Protectorate goons still hanging around are Armsy, Scarf-face, and Assault. Think if we get the drop we can take 'em. At least a hit and run."

" _Simmy_!" I hissed. "I mean Vista is _here_ here. With me right now."

"Oooooooh! Hi, Vista!" She paused. "Right. You can't see me wave over this. Nevermind. Eric, wave for me."

I pocketed the walkie talkie and waved at Vista weakly, all the while slowly backing away.

"Anyways," Simone continued from my pocket, "quit playing with girls and get to business. We got a doggy to snatch, and things are about to get dicey."

"Oh hey look, think I got somewhere else to be," I said to Vista.

The exit didn't get any closer, despite my best efforts. It was like the whole room was stationary.

Vista's power.

"I don't think you're going anywhere, _Eric_ ," she said with a smirk. "So hey, you wanted to see something the PR guys wouldn't approve of? How's this?"

Then she slammed a fist into my groin from a good five feet away.

She probably expected that to sound cool, and it might have, if I hadn't been wearing a cup. Now, don't get me wrong: the punch hurt, just not my actual testicles, god bless. That girl can _punch_.

Instead, Vista yelped in pain, shaking her hand. "How the hell? It's like punching steel. I think I broke my hand."

"Yeah," I said, trying not to sound pained, "tough luck for you, but I've been building me up this immunity to getting hit in the balls over the last few months."

"Neat trick," a man said from behind me, his voice cheery. "But how's the immunity on your solar plexus?"

I spun to see a man in a sleek red suit, a mask covering the upper half of his face, with brown eyes poking through. Before I could do more than open my mouth, he slugged me in the chest so hard it felt like the world exploded.

— 46 —

I lay there, unsure which way was up, unable to breathe.

Course, had my father been here, he'd roll his eyes and say "yes, you can." Granted, most times I can recall getting my solar plexus punched happened when I was a kid, and it had been my father involved therein, so maybe he downplayed it to keep Child Protective Services at bay.

Although looking back, sometimes I'd deserved a good ass whooping. Father always claimed to be trying to knock sense into me, which had a sort of logic. Maybe if I'd had a few more of those, I wouldn't be staging a two-man assault on the local PRT building.

Or one man, one woman.

Boy and girl, really.

One of us tipsy with no functional grasp of cause and effect, the other a borderline alcoholic with this unhealthy habit of sticking his fingers into every pie in the Wormverse.

I think there was yelling. An explosion. Was that the fire alarm? Howling dogs.

Doors slammed open nearby, and the gym filled with shouts and the clatter of footfalls.

I was still dry heaving when a cascade of small forces collided with my side, sending me tumbling until I hit a wall.

When it ended, I was on my back. A line of drool found its way into my eye. The sudden revulsion overpowered my sense of self-pity enough to make me lucid.

I smelled fire, and something acrid and stale, like old packing foam. I heard what sounded like sirens—the police and firetruck variety, not Endbringer ones, thankfully—along with a distant roar of heavy things smashed against each other.

I rolled to my stomach and looked out across the auditorium. Everything that had been so neatly set up, the chairs and brochure stands, lay strewn across the room in pieces, coupled with broken glass from the windows.

Pieces of the wreckage even found themselves atop me, in particular a singed brochure offering to teach me how to "achieve maximum efficiency" with my pet. The name of the author had been burned off, but I think I could guess.

I had to get out of here. But the door wherethrough I'd come was gone. In its stead was rubble and fire. On the ceiling, sprinklers spun uselessly, unable to deal with the blaze. Half of them sprayed water ineffectively, the other half just spun. Beneath those ones were pepperings of containment foam. At least one such sprinkler was clogged up with a Miss Militia scarf. The others must have run out, or something happened to the pipes supplying them.

The gym-like floor had scores of black sneaker streaks in between specks of foam. My eyes followed the trail past two trampled markers towards the emergency exit. Its sign lay broken on the ground.

Just what in the nine hells had I missed? I know I said it was like the world exploded, but I hadn't meant that literally.

The radio crackled. "Eric, status check."

Wiggling toes and fingers, I didn't feel anything too wrong. Might be shock, though. I moved my arms and legs in slow motions, and pushed the debris off my chest. Alright. My ribs and solar plexus were sore to the touch, but the bones seemed intact somehow.

"My HP is at, like, 60%," I radioed, "but none of my limbs are crippled." I checked my cup. "Balls still intact. Yourself? Over."

"No balls as far as I'm aware. Look, I'm kinda busy here, so just get outta there fast, and don't go near the emergency exit."

"Simone, what did you do?"

She didn't reply.

"Simone?"

A flaming police car tore through the emergency exit. It rolled across the floor, battering chairs and other debris out of the way, before it smashed into and through a wall. It went a ways into the next room.

I hoped no one had been in it.

I felt a knot of dread well up in my gut. Of the "you're so utterly and irrevocably fucked" variety. The feeling you get when you know you've just done something you can't undo, and that's gonna totally ruin your whole future. Of course, every time I'd had that feeling before, I'd managed to overcome my obstacles, either through dumb luck, a little elbow grease, or both. Lotta both.

No reason to think that one-two combo would fail me now.

I put the radio away and forced myself to stand. The movement made my solar plexus burn. All the proper doors were either rubble or on fire, so the only obvious way out was the hole the police car had just torn in the far wall, which lead deeper into the PRT building. It was either that or wait everything out.

I stumbled over to the hole and looked through.

Beyond lay a hallway flooded toe-deep from a pair of bathrooms. The water hissed as it touched the burning police car, which was thankfully unoccupied.

I made my way through the water, taking care to avoid the car. Burning vehicles didn't explode in real life, as I'd learned from Mythbusters. But what about in Worm? What about with Puppy Arson and Simone involved? Best not to stick around.

Further down the wall, around a bend, I found Gallant. He was just sort of laying on the floor, in the water, groaning. It looked like he'd had a disagreement with the entire bathroom: stalls, sinks, hand dryer, and toilet paper. Lots of toilet paper.

He was only semi conscious, his neck pinned by a toilet seat somehow embedded into the floor. It was stuck in there well and deep. No matter how hard I pulled at it, it refused to budge. By way of apology, I rubbed my sparkled shirt on Gallant's knight armor until he had the words "get well soon" written in glitter across his breastplate.

Like Aegis, he had died too early for me to really grow to care for him as a character. He only had, like, what, that one speaking line with Panacea as far as I could remember? Oh, and Vista crushed on him because his power encouraged that, I think, like what Glory Girl's power did to her sister. I wondered if the women in Gallant's life were as… colorful as those in mine.

I went on my way.

The crashing got louder, in perfect tandem with the sirens, and the distant, almost frantic howl of dogs.

Holes in the hallway walls led out into the wide open front lobby of the PRT building. The Puppy Arson Return Ceremony sign was still up, but someone had crossed it out in red marker and wrote "canceled" over it. Also, the gift shop was on fire, a pile of Armsmaster steak knives strewn around the floor outside. They spelled out "0/5 stars do not buy".

Outside proper, evening was languidly becoming twilight.

I took a breath, put on the Lone Ranger mask I had in my pocket, and stumbled out the front door.

— 47 —

The plaza before the building looked like an asteroid had just had drunken sex with the place before fleeing the scene of the crime.

Furrows in the concrete, an upside down fountain, the remains of news vans, and to one side a large swath of inky black clouds—Grue's darkness power?

In the center of the plaza, a whirling storm of stone, metal, plant, and even fire obscured the figure of what could only be Simone.

I stood there, gawking. Simone herself, in the middle of the maelstrom, looked like an angel made of pure destruction, complete with a porcelain mask and stone armor. It was probably as much about defense and intimidation as identity protection. I mean, yeah, she was kinda terrifying before, the only person whose lust for eye gouging rivaled Taylor's. But _this_? Christ alive, _this_ was the dorky, awkward, drunken girl with a thing for me/Greg?

Simone glanced towards me and waved.

I gave history's weakest wave back.

The sirens grew louder. A firetruck roared down a street and into sight, blasting its horn.

She snapped her attention towards it and flicked her wrist. The fire truck lifted off the ground, still speeding ahead.

Firemen leapt from the—no, no, it was more like they were being thrown from it, then harmlessly tossed to the sidelines. All this right before the fire engine shot up and impaled the PRT building's third floor.

The shriek of metal and concrete made me grit my teeth and wince. Dust, debris, and flashes of fire exploded out from the wreckage before gravity got in a word edgewise.

Down towards me.

I hurled myself back into the front lobby, rolling to a stop a little too close to the blazing gift shop for my liking. As dust billowed in across the room, I covered my head and tried to inch away from the fire. Last thing I wanted to do was end up dying of _black lung_.

I felt more than anything else the dust leave. When I dared open an eye, I saw it getting sucked outside.

Thanks, Simone?

The dust flew off to the side and away from the fight, likely ruining someone else's day, but leaving me in the clear.

Pieces and strips of the fireladder fell down next. Simone snatched them from the air and fired them like subsonic missiles. They rained down onto the plaza at people.

No, not just people.

At _capes_.

Except for that one that obliterated Armsmaster's motorcycle, turning it into a cloud of shrapnel. But Armsy had double parked the bike, so it was okay.

Vista was out there fighting too, I noticed. Probably would have realized sooner if Simone hadn't had my undivided attention until now. Vista was running around, swatting at a swarm of glitter and dive-bombing markers. The sparkles went into her mouth, and she fell over onto the front steps of the PRT building, rolling and coughing up a storm as she clutched for her throat.

A deep groan sounded from above, and something dropped to smash near Vista. A stapler. From one of the offices?

I poked my head outside and looked up.

The firetrack hung half out of the hole it had made on the third floor. It looked anything but stable. Like it might fall down and crush anyone therebeneath. Like Vista.

I took a breath and sprinted to her. I swatted the markers and glitter away before going to grab her. When I did, as if on instinct, Vista slapped and punched at me. Didn't stop me from dragging her into the PRT lobby.

Sure, there was that fire on the lobby's far side, but it still felt a bit safer for her than out there with the Simone angel thing. Plus, the marker swarm seemed unwilling to follow us inside.

Vista kept coughing, so I gave her a good few wallops on the back to help. I hoped they wouldn't add any bruises. She vomited up a mess of food and glitter at my feet, spittle trailing from her mouth.

She took several good, deep breaths before her head swiveled to me.

Her gaze flicked to my shirt, covered in unicorns and stars, crowned by her cape name. I could practically see the gears churning rustily in her head.

"On the radio before," she said in a weak voice, "was that—were you talking to that thing out there? Who the hell _are_ you?"

"Oh yeah, that's right. I forgot to tell you who to make the autograph out to." I gave her my best grin. "I'm Void Cowboy."

She just stared at me. Or maybe she fell asleep. Hard to tell through her visor.

"Where's your hat?" she asked at length. It was little more than a hoarse croak. All that glitter and vomit must have really done a number on her vocal chords.

As if on cue, my hat floated into the room on a breeze, whirling and tumbling. I casually snatched it out of the air and put it on.

I made a note to thank Simone after this was all over.

"Y'know, I never did ask how the playdate with Dinah went."

Her mouth hung open. "Fuck," she muttered.

I shrugged. "Also, yes, you did in fact punch the real Void Cowboy in the balls and give the puppy away to a supervillain imposter, but hey, I forgive you. Though for the record, I do kinda hope you broke your hand. No offense."

"And so, what, you team up with Simurgh-lite over there and storm the PRT building? Because of a _dog_?"

I cringed. "Wasn't my first idea. But things got a touch outta hand. My PHO got hacked, so that way was dead. I tried to reach you via Dinah. Called Shadow Stalker, too. Even tried telling the guards outside who I was. Either nobody answered, or nobody believed me. Except for her."

"You could have said something, when I was signing your shirt."

"Would you have believed me? And would that have ended any other way than with me in an interrogation room?"

Something crashed into the outside wall.

"I'm sorry about the mess," I said, "but I got problems to solve and a puppy to save."

I stood up, clicked my bootheels together, and strode to the exit.

"If you walk out that door," she croaked out, "you'll be branded a villain. Just… stay here. Turn yourself in. And we can find a way to fix this." Her voice shook a little. The words rang hollow.

I turned to her, lying on the ground, propped up on an elbow.

"You don't really believe that, do you, Vista?"

She grit her teeth. "We know what you look like. We _will_ find you."

She had a point.

I never wanted this. But if I had to become the villain to stay free, so be it.

I paused at the door frame.

"You know why the unwritten rules exist, don't you? It prevents escalation. It's so that people like me and people like _her_ can go back to our ordinary lives instead of doing this every day. Think about that, _Miz_ Biron."

With that I entered the maelstrom outside for good this time.

— 48 —

There was no way to say "I'm not the bad guy" without sounding like you are.

What had Vista said to me when we chatted over IM?

 _Aren't you, like, one step away from villainy yourself?_

Said in jest, but in its own way a prophecy. Such is the way of this world, where giant space whales lead minors into evil. In a sense, I could empathize better now with Taylor and her descent into eye gouging.

I stood on the front steps outside the main entrance, where officers Carlyle and Geoff had been earlier. No sign of them. I hoped they were alright. Despite being PRT mooks, they weren't bad people.

A marker-made arrow lay scribbled on the ground before me. It pointed me away from the PRT building, towards another arrow along a dotted trail. Simone's work, I figured.

I walked down the steps.

Behind me, a car door, spinning so rapidly it was little more than a circular blur, zipped by and smashed into the front doors of the PRT building, wrenching them together. The rest of the car followed in full. Debris fell as the door and half the vehicle crumpled from the impact. It all missed me, but likely trapped Vista in the lobby.

No matter the case, I didn't feel like loafing around here. And I couldn't scurry back inside anymore.

Like the night the Simurgh had come to town, three words popped into my mind.

 _No turning back._

They felt appropriate as I walked forwards. On the one hand, because it sounded all awesome and cool. And because on the other, last time I used it, I had zero idea what I was doing, which was pretty much the case right here.

I scanned the fight as I went, following the arrows.

Armsmaster aimed his halberd at the angel and fired a thunderous bolt, like a taser grappling hook. A chunk of fountain intercepted the hook, swatting it out air. A hail of everything flew back in retaliation, and a potted plant to the face took him out.

Simone focused her attention on a cape in red. Assault? Sure, let's go with that.

She shot a beam of rebar towards Assault, who somehow redirected it into the ground, spitting out a cloud of concrete dust. A chunk of the fountain shot towards him.  
He sent is back at her, where it broke apart against her cloud of debris.

It was neat to watch, but I had arrows to follow.

I climbed over a ruined chunk of firetruck, wondering where Miss Militia was, only to find my answer in front of me. The PRT building had a flagpole, very patriotic and whatnot. Tied to its top, in layers of American flag scarves and containment foam, was everyone's favorite Armenian cape. A number of PRT troopers lay foamed around the base below, their own equipment having proved traitors.

Carlyle and Geoff, the troopers from the front door, were there too. I gave them a pleasant wave.

Simone had said that Assault, Armsmaster, and Miss Militia were the only big Protectorate capes here. But that didn't count the Wards, nor Panacea and Glory Girl. Pancakes was likely sitting on the sidelines, playing medic, and the Power Girl ripoff was… I didn't know. If not in the fight, then dealt with somehow. Probably containment foam.

Simone seemed to be taking care of things.

The arrow trail led me behind a pile of police cars, around a team of hunkered down PRT troopers, and onto a parallel street. The fight became little more than crashes, screams, and screeches.

Eventually the trail came to an abrupt end. It took me a moment to realize I was in the alley where I'd stashed my gear at the start of the night. I'd just entered it from the other side.

Why would Simone lead me here?

A little light buzzed above the dumpster wherebehind I'd hidden my stuff. I reached back there, but found nothing. Just an empty space.

Well that was upsetting.

Something scraped behind me, and I spun to see a girl mere feet away.

She was wearing my duster, my bandanna tucked away in a pocket.

And underneath the duster, white and red robes. Panacea.

Puppy Arson yipped in her arms at the sight of me. She tightened her hold on him.

"Not one more step," she said, a dangerous edge to her voice.

So. It was going to be like this, huh? Christ's sake, all I wanted from this night was a small dog. Did it _really_ have to come to this?

I stood straight. "Give me back my dog."

"No," she said.

"Then at least give my duster. C'mon, PanPan."

"No. It's comfy and it has pockets. I'm keeping it."

I balled my fists and took a breath. "You sure are petty, you know that? I mean, yeah, I'm one to talk—but _c'mon_!"

An explosion went off near the alley exit. Bricks smashed and clattered across the street. The buildings and dumpsters shook. I stumbled to my knees. Panacea held her ground.

"You did this, didn't you?" she accused. "I don't know how, and I sure as hell don't know why, but you did."

Puppy Arson let out a yap again.

I scoffed. "I don't even have powers. Said so yourself, Pancakes."

"And yet here we are," she said. "You fooled my power somehow, but you're not as smart as you think you are. I'm not an idiot, Void Cowboy. I saw the arrows. I knew someone would come here. Someone guilty."

Well, at least _someone_ got my identity right. Eventually.

"So you resorted to dognapping, Pancakes? A new low, even for you."

"The Undersiders had him. When your friend out there impaled the dogs to the ground, he slipped away. I picked him up."

"Good," I spat. "So you can return him to his owner. What else would you be doing here, exactly? You're supposed to be a hero. Just give me back my dog, like the _heroes_ wanted, and we can all go home."

She took a step towards me as I stood up. "A hero? How the hell do you think I feel, seeing my sister foamed, my friends bloodied. People I respect, humiliated. What am I supposed to do as a hero? Stand by and watch? Help clean up the mess?"

Panacea shook her head.

"We don't gotta fight at the very least," I said, backing up. The girl who could rewrite my entire DNA with a touch continued stalking towards me till my back was against a wall. "Please?"

"I can't do anything about what's happening out there. I can't stop the fight. But I can stop you."

Panacea reached into a pocket—her only one near as I could tell—and pulled out a can of pepper spray. She pointed it at me.

Lord Woofers the Indomitable bit her hand.

She yelped, dropping both dog and pepper spray.

I snatched up the can and maced the shit out of her.

Panacea screamed, covering her eyes. I decked her in the face.

As she tumbled to the ground, I stood there, heart pounding. Oh god I hadn't just done that, had I?

Oh sure, she was a superhero who could literally turn me inside out with the touch of a finger. And yes, this was _exactly_ how I made an enemy for life. R.I.P. dreams of annoying her for fun like I did with Lisa.

She was getting up.

Now, granted, I could fight. My father's father had taught me to box—and that man had been a biker gang boss in Milwaukee who robbed banks and, if tales were true, literally had a double digit body count.

But all Panacea had to do was touch me to ruin my life.

Frak it. In for a penny, in for a pound.

I straight up tackled her. And while she could fight, I was bigger and stronger.

Also I pulled the duster over her face. Heroically.

The rough wrestling match was a bit undignified for all parties involved. There may have been some slapping going on, though I'll be damned before I admit who slapped whom.

Somehow I got her totally trapped under the duster. A few good punches and kicks through that was enough to knock the fight out of her. I added a few more for good measure, trying not to think about how I was, in effect, beating a teenage girl half to death over an article of clothing.

But of course, she'd just wake up and fix herself 100%, right? I could afford to be extra safe. Didn't want her getting up and turning my bones to jelly when my back was turned.

I felt a bit like Taylor when she cut out Lung's eyes. Undeniably awful, but undeniably it was the correct, safe course of action. And no Sundancer to judge me, only the support of Lord Woofers.

In the end, I had my full Void Cowboy kit, my dog, and Pancakes lying on the ground (just add syrup). Actually, I tossed her in the dumpster and slammed the lid, just to be safe.

I adjusted my duster, panting, Lord Woofers resting cozy-like in a pocket.

I went to the end of the alley to watch the fight. Radio in hand, I said, "Mission accomplished."

Inside the swirling mass of debris, Simone paused. She lifted a walkie talkie, and I heard the hiss of static as she pressed the talk button.

Assault redirected a spear of metal back at her.

Right through her head.

Chunky red sprayed out in the twilight, and her body fell limply to the ground.

The walkie talkie dropped from her hand. Gravity and momentum reasserted themselves on the cloud of debris.

For a moment, everything went silent. Everything froze. Even the heroes looked dumbfounded.

My heart stopped, mouth turning to cotton as I tried to grasp what had just happened. I didn't even notice my walkie talkie slipping from my hand until it clattered to the ground.

Silence reigned, so powerful it nearly blocked out the distant wail of sirens, or the crackling of the fire.

"Simone," I uttered breathlessly.

Then, in a quiet whisper from behind me: "Over."

I whirled. There she was. Platinum blonde hair tidy, red and black dress unruffled. Alive. With a shit-eating grin on her face.

Had I been feeling sad? Nope. No way no how, especially not over Simone. That wasn't the Void Cowboy way.

No sir.

"Mr. Watermelon had you fooled for a minute there, didn't he?" she asked.

I grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her, all the confusion and all the horror of the night coming out at once. "What the fuck, Simone? Seriously. What. The. Fuck."

"Aw, you do care."

"And you're insane!" I hissed.

"I know," she said simply. Calmly. "But would a sane girl have gotten your dog back?"

Probably not.

I wrapped her in a hug that lasted only as long as it had to. Had to remain aloof and all. "Just don't do that to me again."

She cocked a brow. "You seem to have lost your restraining order somewhere in the night."

Behind us, fire engines tentatively rolled into the PRT plaza, hosing down the building. Troopers moved onto the scene, freeing foamed officers and capes alike.

"Well, whatever the case, it worked," I said, petulantly crossing my arms. Puppy Arson barked in agreement.

"Yeah, it did." Then she got up on her tippy toes and kissed me.

I didn't kiss back. Just sort of stood there, trying to figure things out. Whatever _things_ were. Maybe I was still too bitter from Lisa (who, I remind you, should die).

They'd probably start looking for Panacea before long. Or maybe she'd climb out of the dumpster. Whichever came first.

"We should get going," I said, pulling away from her and rubbing the back of my head.

"Good point. Have to get home before my dad, or he'll know I was out all night with a boy." She elbowed me.

I bit my lip. "So, that's it then?"

As we walked away from the scene of the crime, Simone put a hand on my shoulder, looking up at me through her eyelashes. "What, were you expecting something more on a first date?"

The next instant the hand was gone, a coy smile on her lips. "Just—do me a favor, cowboy?"

My traitorous heart thumped in my chest. As if it hadn't been sucker punched twice tonight already.

"What is it?" I asked.

She hummed, and I just looked at her.

Maybe it was the hopeless romantic in me, but she was kinda cute after a fashion. And crazy. But with women, those went hand in hand, so no surprise there. Worse yet, I never could tell what was going through her head.

Except maybe rebar and a watermelon.

I shut my eyes and killed that train of thought. Take a deep breath, Cowboy.

When I opened them, Simone was looking up at me, concerned.

"It's nothing," I said.

She gave her head a little shake and smiled. "It's a small favor, really, but it would mean a whole lot to me. Just…"

"Yeah?" I prompted.

"When I sober up, don't tell Simone about this."

 **End of Arc 2**

* * *

a/n We did it boys. Pack it up and go home. Arc 2 is at an end and everything is totally not at all worse!

Let's see what the score is: Greg has his puppy, _Void Cowboy_ is now officially Vista's #1 fan, Void beat up Panacea (he's totally mistaken that she can heal herself), and he's now official a supervillain. But hey, having Lord Woofers back makes it all even. And you can guarantee the media is gonna love that image of Void coming out of the PRT building with his Vista shirt. And Simone, well, at least she's on his side, and Greg can sort of tolerate her. She's kinda scary strong, huh? No way that's gonna bite Greg in the ass.

Overall, I give Greg a Vietcong out of VC

* * *

Comment of the Week: Ronin Katarn

 _I'm not gonna lie. When the twist came and both I figured out what was happening I felt like I got punched in the gut. I honestly didn't see the turn coming and it was really well written. Came outta nowhere and made a hell of an impact. Can't wait to see the retribution Greg brings down on them. Great work so far._

Yes, praise me more. FEED ME, SEYMOUR. Here's to hoping the payoff was worth the wait. Well, not much wait. I'm sort of just reuploading this to FF to help get this story out there. I'm a hussy for comments and reader involvement. But I honestly think that the whole Lisa/Greg thing in chapter 10 was one of my favorite things I ever wrote. I'm happy how it turned out, and doubly happy for how readers took that chapter.

It really makes you wonder what would have happened in Timeline A's Greg/Lisa plan had worked, but it seems that timeline B favored Coil, and so it's sticking around as our canon. More importantly, did Timeline A Greg get the boob? It's enough to keep a man up at night.


	14. Interlude 2: Tattletale

Interlude 2: Tattletale

— 49 —

Dirty.

No other word for it. Lisa felt dirty.

The kind of dirty she usually only got from mud, explosions, or worse, talking to Coil. Thankfully, this was only the former two. With some added glitter for no well explored reason.

"I'm not going to let you track that mud inside the house, young lady," Regent said as they entered their hideout.

"This is a full body suit," she told him with painful slowness. "I can't just take it off without taking _everything_ off." She'd worn the costume under her normal clothes earlier, and a skintight outfit didn't leave a lot of room underneath for much more.

Regent waggled his brows before Grue pushed him up the stairs.

Then Regent sniped the shower.

Bastard didn't even need a shower. He hardly got scratched. Not even when Puppy Arson caused a literal explosion because he just _had_ to see what would happen if he gave the dog bleach.

He'd be in the shower until the water got cold, she knew. He always did that. But if she tried to hurry him, he'd stay there extra long just to spite her.

So Lisa went to her room, changed into proper clothes, then washed her face in the kitchen sink. It wasn't much, but it felt better.

Drying her face with a dish towel, she saw Brian standing in front of her. He was already out of costume.

"Mind explaining what the hell happened tonight?" he asked, arms crossed.

"Only if you mind explaining why there's four people living here—two of us girls—and only one bathroom."

"Bitch is usually pretty quick in the bathroom," he said. "But—"

"I wasn't counting Bitch."

Over in the bathroom, Lisa heard Alec start the hair dryer.

Brian scowled. Right, no getting out of this with a joke.

Lisa sighed. "Void Cowboy got desperate and angry. Called in a friend."

"And that's all there it to it?"

Lisa finished with the dish towel and set it back. "That crazy super cape out there was angry at me. _Specifically_. Remember when she got speared through the head?"

"You said it was a trick."

Lisa took out her phone and showed him a photo. One of the news crews had avoided the carnage and somehow captured almost the whole fight. The shot showed pieces of pulped watermelon smashed across the stonework by the fountain. Or what was left of it.

"See that writing on the melon?" she asked.

Brian squinted. "What's it say?"

"Unless the PRT has some sort of bizarre melon reconstruction tinker, I doubt anyone but me will ever find out. But it said, 'Lisa.' And there was a drawing of my face."

Brian furrowed his brows. "Your name. Your face. And a length of rebar shooting through it, making it explode. What could it _mean_? Help me out here, Lisa. I'm not a thinker, I can't figure this stuff out."

"Sarcasm. How original," she said flatly.

"And your job was to keep Void Cowboy from causing any trouble. Instead, you made him angry, which made his friend angry, and so we failed the job and nearly got killed for nothing."

"Not nothing. We still got paid, right?"

"'Uh-huh," he said, clearly not buying it. "I like to _win_. Getting paid for trying is like winning a participation medal in grade school. You know what my dad said to me the last time I went home with one of those?"

Lisa didn't know, but she could guess. It probably involved fists.

"And meanwhile, what do you think the PRT's going to do after tonight?" he asked. "Who do you think they're going to come after?"

Lisa grit her teeth. He went on.

"I don't like this because we just got our name out there in a big way. But not as the heavy hitters. As the ones who crashed the PRT party and ran. So when they start looking for a way to save face, they're going to come after _us_. Not Void Cowboy. Not his friend. _Us_."

"Fuck," Lisa said, rubbing her eyes.

"Is this super cape going to come after the rest of us?"

She shook her head. "No. She only has it in for me, I think."

"Thank god for small miracles," Brian said with an air of finality. He left her standing alone in the kitchen.

Alec walked out of the bathroom, wearing a T-shirt and bath towel. He saw her looking and tossed his hair artfully. Bastard was using her shampoo!

But he could go screw himself. Shower was open. Lisa slipped inside before someone else could steal it.

To her surprise, there was some hot water left over. The heat helped her think.

But Brian was right. Lisa _had_ fucked up.

She was the only one of the Undersiders who got specifically targeted, so clearly Void Cowboy's friend had it in for her. And since she'd never interacted with that cape beforehand, she must be borrowing Void Cowboy's grudge or something.

The watermelon had been a pretty big clue.

It was a message. _This could be you, Lisa. Just give me a reason._

Lisa had to turn her shampoo upside down and shake it, and even then barely any sputtered out. Alec must have used nearly a fifth of the bottle.

Lisa rubbed the shampoo through her hair.

Next came bodywash, which Alec hadn't emptied out on her, thankfully. God bless you, fruity lavender.

Wait, lavender?

Shit, had she used _Alec's_ bodywash?

Before she could grasp the horror, the hot water ran out. Her skin prickled in sudden goose bumps. She nearly jumped out of shower.

Instead, she grit her teeth and finished washing. By the time she finished and turned the shower off, her teeth were chattering.

Lisa toweled herself off, tender bruises protesting in no uncertain terms.

And she had a lot of those. On her ribs, her shoulders, her legs, and back. Void Cowboy's friend had made certain of that.

Lisa got dressed and left the bathroom.

Outside everyone was sitting on the couch. They all turned to look at her.

Bitch grit her teeth so hard they looked about ready to break, her face red. The dogs lounging around the couch looked uneasy. Bitch's eyes—Lisa immediately regretting meeting them.

Bitch leapt over the couch and was on her. Face-to-face, she growled, "You got Brutus hurt."

 _Fuck._

"Look, I—"

Bitch slugged Lisa. She fell on her ass.

Lisa looked to her other teammates for help.

"If you'd done your job, Void Cowboy wouldn't have called for backup," Brian said. He didn't get up.

"Hey, Lisa," Alec called out, "I burned my mouth on this pizza. This is your fault!"

"What the hell?" she demanded.

He shrugged. "Everyone's blaming you for stuff and I wanted in."

Bitch kicked Lisa in her already bruised ribs. Again and again. Lisa curled up and tried to shield herself, but Bitch kept kicking.

She didn't stop until the Dog Whisperer theme song began a minute later, slightly changed for the season two premiere.

Bitch gave one last half-hearted kick, darted over to the couch, and set herself on the center cushion with a grunt.

Lisa crawled away, trying not to whimper. She picked herself up, ribs on fire, and scurried for the stairs while she still could.

— 50 —

Lisa downed a fistful of painkillers with a glass of water. She let herself fall backwards onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling, wishing the pills would get to work faster.

She was in her own apartment. Her hideout from the hideout. Never knew when one of those would come in handy.

Tonight, apparently.

Her phone rang. Coil. She just knew.

She answered it.

Part of her wanted to say something snappy. But honestly she just couldn't be bothered. Maybe after the painkillers set in. For now, she just breathed, waiting for him to begin. He probably enjoyed that. _Sick fuck_.

"Nothing to say, Sarah?" he eventually said in his smooth, oily voice. Lisa winced at the name. "Tonight sure has brought me no end of surprises. Are you enjoying this timeline?"

He knew she knew. Because of course he did.

[indent] _Slight pauses. Slow speech. Vague slurring. Over-pronouncing his words to hide it._ [/indent]

"Why are you drunk dialing me?" she demanded. She couldn't _not_ ask.

"I have a message for you from your other self," he said, still trying to sound as normal as possible. "'Say yes.'"

"Say yes to what?"

"What the other Void Cowboy wanted me to relay to the him of this timeline. 'Don't hold it against Lisa. No hard feelings from this side. In fact, do yourself a favor and ask her to come see a movie with you Saturday night.' Your other self wanted you to say yes."

Lisa sat up and swallowed. Her mouth felt dry. "What?"

"You and he got rather close in the other timeline, and he wished to see about still being close in this one. Shame how he now wishes you dead."

"How close?"

"Rather."

" _How_?"

He sighed. There was some awkward reluctance as he said, "You let him touch your breasts. I was under the impression you enjoyed it."

She didn't have anything to say to that. _Couldn't_ say anything to that. She just sat there, slack-jawed.

Coil let her collect herself. Fucker was enjoying her reaction.

"How bad was it?" she asked.

He paused. "I don't think he got his hand under your bra, but—"

"No, I mean how bad was it that you had to drop the timeline? Because I have a hard time imagining things getting worse than what happened in this one."

Coil paused again for a long time.

He replied in a soft voice. "Endbringer rock concert."

Lisa blinked.

"Behemoth was on bass. The Simurgh supplied the vocals. I can't imagine what Leviathan was going to do, but I decided not to stick around and find out."

"You're… you're lying, right?"

He sighed. "Yes, of course I'm lying. I'm a _supervillain_. It's what we do. But what Void Cowboy, you, and that damned puppy did was enough to convince me to drink. In two timelines for good measure."

"And the boob part?"

"That much was true," he said in serious tone. "Except the 'not under the bra' part. That was a lie."

"Bullshit, you evil bastard," she hissed.

"Honest truth," he said. He was enjoying this, wasn't he? That's why he was calling her. To rub this in her face. "And I'm only evil because nobody loves me."

"Nobody loved you, so you turned evil and got rich and now you're spending your night harassing me?"

"Who else would I call? You're like the daughter I never had, Sarah."

She scoffed. "You torture me in other timelines."

"Correct."

She winced. That had just been a shot in the dark, but of course it would be true. This was _Coil_.

"However," he went on, "I always have one timeline where I don't. _That_ Sarah is like my daughter, and that one's you. But as much as I enjoy ruining your night, I do have business."

"Which is?"

"I need you to make things right between yourself and Void Cowboy."

Something in her stomach dropped. "So… if you're like my dad, why are you encouraging me to go out with a boy who grabbed my tits on a first date? Shouldn't you be defending my honor or something?"

"My, how old fashioned of you," he said.

"Ha. Ha. But really, why send your least loyal and most treacherous agent to broker an alliance?"

She heard him take a drink. "Please, don't flatter yourself, Sarah. And I don't care for you and him becoming an item. I merely want you to contact him, repair things between you two, and then cut said contact.'"

"Because if he's not angry at me, he won't be angry with you, right?"

"I prefer thinking of it as putting the dogs to sleep and letting them lie. I can't be the only one who doesn't want an Endbringer rock concert in my city, can I?

"Oh, and figure out whatever I did in the future to earn his ire. I'd rather avoid a repeat of tonight. Then you can cut contact."

"And if I don't?"

With a smile in his voice, he said, "Have I mentioned you're the only Sarah I consider a daughter?"

Lisa couldn't stop herself from asking, "And how many mes _don't_ you consider?"

"Hold on, I have a tally somewhere in this office."

She heard him rummage.

"Ah, here it is. Turns out there's one thousand, two hundred and fifty-six such Sarahs." A pause. Another drink. A contented sigh. "One thousand, two hundred and fifty- _seven_."

Lisa shivered.

"Did I mention how much I hate that your power doesn't work right on Void Cowboy?" he asked. "Try to overcome that limitation this time."

— 51 —

"Void Cowboy," she started as soon as he picked up.

The phone crackled. She heard a little puppy's bark.

"Where's the bitch, boy? Where's that traitorous bitch?" Void Cowboy said, voice distant and high-pitched.

Puppy Arson barked.

"Get the bitch, boy! Get 'er!"

The puppy barked excitedly between tiny growls.

Void Cowboy moved the phone again. "So, yeah, turns out my dog has better taste in women than I do."

He hung up.

Lisa rubbed her forehead. She paced around the cozy living room of her apartment. It was actually a nice little place, one of the perks of working for a supervillain. Minus the whole gilded cage thing. And the torture.

She redialed.

"Your call has been forwarded to an automatic 'go fuck yourself' box," he said in a robotic monotone. "Go fuck yourself after the beep. BEEEEP."

Lisa took a deep breath. _Come on. You_ want _to fix this, orders or no._

"I'm sorry," she began. It was funny how the words could sound sincere when you actually meant them. "I also reset your PHO and email accounts. You should have those back now."

He didn't immediately hang up, but he didn't answer her either. The silence hung between them. Lisa's mouth felt dry.

"Was any of it real?" Void Cowboy asked bitterly. "Is this apology real? Or is Coil putting you up to this too?"

Lisa had no answer to that. She didn't want to lie to him. _Hadn't_ lied to him during their fake date; she just hadn't told him the complete truth either.

There were things she could have said. _He never ordered me to like you. He never ordered me to kiss you. When I said we should go on a real date, I meant it._

None of that came out. Even if she said it, he wouldn't believe her.

Void Cowboy ended the call.

She sat down at her computer desk, set the phone aside, and put her head in her hands.

What was she going to do, just call him back and breathe until he hung up again? This wasn't working. This just _wasn't_ working.

She needed to think. Figure things out like she always did.

Void Cowboy had called her a traitor. Not a liar. Not a puppy stealer. Not a villain. Why? What did that mean about the way he saw her?

Lisa waited for her power to fill in the blanks. It didn't.

He'd asked if any of tonight, the brief _thing_ in the coffee shop and after, had been real. And judging from his tone of voice and the long pause, he wished it had been.

Was that right?

Lisa couldn't be sure. Usually just thinking the questions was enough to get the insight flowing automatically, but not with him.

She tapped her power harder, focusing on Void Cowboy, forcing herself to reach for some connection. It felt like stabbing her brain with a knife. She grit her teeth and did it anyway.

[indent] _Angry at you. Angry at self for trusting you._ [/indent]

Her head throbbed. She kept going.

[indent] _Was starting to like you. Takes betrayal personally._ [/indent]

Okay, that was a start. What was he going to do about it?

[indent] _Angry at you. Angry at self for trusting you._ [/indent]

Damn. The same answer. Why couldn't she get anything from him? Was it part of his power?

[indent] _Has no power._ [/indent]

Lisa massaged her temples, as if that could somehow relieve the pain boring a hole through her skull. It wasn't the first time she'd gotten that answer, and she felt no closer to making sense of it now.

Trying something else, she focused on his cape friend instead. What was her power?

[indent] _Wide-range telekinesis. Detailed battlefield awareness. Multitasking. Predictive abilities._ [/indent]

What about the angel?

[indent] _Construct made of debris. Showmanship. Distraction. Decoy. Real cape elsewhere. Designed to evoke image of the Simurgh. Intimidation. Inspire fear. Cape was holding back. Only distantly aware of her own actions._ [/indent]

How come she got something for the crazy cape, but nothing useful for Void Cowboy?

[indent] _Part of Void Cowboy's power._ [/indent]

Which was?

[indent] _Jackassery. Detailed battlefield jackassery. Ability to annoy multiple targets at once. Precognitive jackassery. Jackassery is not Manton limited._ [/indent]

She took a breath. A precog? Not Manton limited? Lisa wasn't sure what that would even mean, assuming her power wasn't just feeding her nonsense. So his power was being a jackass?

[indent] _Has no power._ [/indent]

Lisa had a sudden, completely rational urge to slam her head against the desk, as much from frustration as the hope it might distract her from the headache.

[indent] _Has no power. Wheels on heels give him a mover rating of at least six._ [/indent]

Wait, that… that actually made sense. If he had access to tinker tech, it would explain everything. Why he was able to do what he did, why he was able to confound her power, without having a power of his own. It just meant that he also had some item that could confuse thinker abilities like hers. And if she could find his supplier…

[indent] _Wheels on heels were store bought. $16.99 plus tax. Saved up allowance._ [/indent]

Lisa blinked. That couldn't be right. What kind of place would sell shoes for that price? She _had_ to know. She had to—

Her power was sidetracking her. Again.

It was like this every time. She'd push herself to the breaking point trying to get answers, her power would lead her on, and then it would all turn out to be a trick, a joke, a lie.

Then she'd be stuck at home all week in a dark room, nursing a migraine.

Lisa just wanted something. _Anything_. She'd take his damn PIN number if it helped. Maybe she could follow his purchases or something, if she knew what it was.

[indent] _A PIN, or Personal Identification Number, is a type of security code or password commonly used for identity authentication, especially by banks._ [/indent]

This time she did bang her head on her desk. It didn't help.

Contradictions and runarounds. When she'd first met Void Cowboy outside of Bitch's warehouse, she'd actually believed what her powers had said about him.

 _Naïve_ , it had said. _Harmless. Mildly retarded._

Hard to imagine that was only a week and a half ago. The very next day, the Simurgh had come down and waved at him; tonight he'd upended the whole PRT trying to get a dog back—not to mention whatever he'd done in the other timeline, driving Coil to drink.

He was anything but harmless. And something about him was interfering with her abilities. That much was clear, even if her power would never admit it.

At least she wasn't alone in that; Panacea had touched Void Cowboy for one moment and immediately declared him not a cape. The thought gave Lisa a small comfort.

It was about the only comfort she had.

Her team hated her. The PRT no doubt wanted to hunt her down. The boss was making impossible demands. And just about the only person who could help her currently wished her dead.

She made a half-hearted attempt to raise her head, but just let it fall back down.

Lisa squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her palms against them. Her whole body hurt. Her head, her back, her arms. She forced down a sob, and her ribs ached with the effort.

She'd fucked up everything tonight, and she couldn't see a way to fix it. She told herself at least she wouldn't end it all by crying, but her hands already felt wet. Why bother?

Why fucking bother?

 _You're not the right kind of cute to be sad_. _You're better covered in sugar._

His words burned inside her. Twisted around, squeezing her chest. What was she _doing_ here?

This wasn't her. This wasn't like her.

Who was she?

 _I think you're a person. Sometimes good, sometimes bad. Sometimes just trying to stay out of jail—or a cage in Coil's base._

Lisa— _Tattletale_ —sat up. She was the smartest cape to ever grace your goddamn presence, that's who she was. And she wasn't going to give up when there was something still worth fighting for.

Period.

End of fucking story.

Tattletale brushed her bangs aside, wiped her eyes, and turned the computer on.

You want to play hard to get, Void Cowboy? Alright.

She checked Parahumans Online and found he hadn't yet changed the password. Too slow. Her lips quirked into a familiar grin.

She scrolled through his post and private message history.

People were stupid. That was just a fact. They dropped all kinds of amazing little tidbits about themselves, sometimes without even being aware of it. With enough pieces, you could get a startlingly accurate picture of someone's life, if you knew how to fit that sort of thing together. And Tattletale did.

Oh sure, Void Cowboy gave her the runaround. But his friends? Oh, they were going to sing like canaries.

Tattletale popped another few painkillers and prepared for the thinker headache of a lifetime. Her liver might throw its own fit, but screw it.

She'd seen everything on the first page of his history when she'd hacked his account before, but now she reread it with purpose.

Someone named Winged_One talked with him a lot. A girl. Fond of him. Sent him a photo of herself that no longer worked. Felt bad for something she did to him; he seemed disinclined to respond.

Although her power didn't think so, Tattletale herself half wondered if Winged_One was the crazy super cape from earlier. Just watch as Void Cowboy turned out to be running some sort of ponzi scheme where he made superpowered girls feel bad for stuff they do to him in order to achieve some nebulous end.

Next there were PMs to Vista, about a girl named Dinah, address included. Interesting. She wrote down the address, and directed her power towards Dinah.

 _Knows his face. Knows he's Void Cowboy. Too young to be friends. Fan? No, blackmail_.

Better and better. She had a lead she could follow up on.

She went to the next page.

 _Nerd. Bullied. Unathletic. Enjoys video games. Thinks he's funny. Blames mods for not getting his jokes._

Tattletale froze.

She was _getting_ something about Void Cowboy, without having to push for it.

She turned back to the first page. Nothing.

Now that just made no sense. Back to the page before, and…

 _Self conscious about height but confident he'll be tall like his father. Social outcast. Few friends. Bad with women._

Tattletale smirked.

June 23rd, 2010 was the cut off point. A message received at 1:37 A.M. from Winged_One, about a strange video whose link no longer worked. Every one of Void Cowboy's posts and PMs _after_ that gave her trouble.

Was that when he'd triggered? June 23rd was also the day XxVoid_CowboyxX stopped posting all day, every day on Parahumans Online.

That grin of hers came back in force. She found herself giggling until she was nearly a cackling wreck. His power didn't work retroactively!

It was going to be _this_ easy? She'd gotten _so_ worked up over _this_. And all she'd had to turn was turn the goddamn page.

 _Had a character named Gregulon the Destroyer in an RPG; his name is Greg. Currently sophomore in local high school. Describes it as poor, run down. Winslow High._

She checked last year's Winslow High yearbook online and found all the Gregs. One of them caught her eye. Gregory Veder. He looked right, though with a bowl haircut and acne. The two had to be the same person, but the difference was like night and day.

Trigger events sure had a way of changing a boy.

Didn't really matter, now. She had the information she needed.

What was it Brian had said earlier? _I like to win._

He wasn't the only one.

Void Cowboy wanted to hang up on her? Fine. The game was on.

And _Tattletale_ didn't play fair.

* * *

a/n Welp, Greg is fucked. Kinda sorta. I love Lisa here. And Coil too. Coil is an asshole, but I hope I can make him fun to read.

* * *

Comment of the Week: **Guest** (REVEAL YOURSELF TO ME, STRANGER!)

 _This fic reminds me of my old english teacher. "Western writing is safe, their heroes are the type of tripe moral wish fulfillment that fails to portray their evils as more than just flaws."_

 _For years, I didnt understand this. But, after reading xianxia and wuxia stories, I understand. The protagonist in western writing would never genocide entire races for a slight. They never rape women in broad daylight and spit on their faces for being inferior. Never kill or steal for no reason than it was an opportunity. There is always justification and rationalization to some bad thing they do. As such, evils or major character flaws dont even make it in the design. But, the most reprehensible part, is that they don't talk shit._

 _Being racist is bad, calling someone inferior or less is bad, killing for no reason is bad, dark morality is bad, but most of all, dark humor is bad. Its disgusting really that nuance and selfish characters arent more a thing, because talking shit means you actually mean it, doing things for my own sake means i actually am evil. That there is something wrong with being evil in fiction, and somehow this is equated in dark humor._

 _This is something that old english teacher would have written, and liked. Thanks for the great story man, hope lifes treating you well. Also, you jive-ass motherfucker. There better be an update to Ereg this year, else it will really be 2020._

Man, this comment left me confused. My takeaway from this, I _think_ , is that Ereg here (a reader nickname for Greg/Eric/Whoever-he-is) does legitimately have some genuinely nasty quantities that I don't really attempt to sugarcoat. He's spiteful, petty, and pretty narcissistic. And later on it seems like he gets a legit problem with alcoholism. Most of the problems he solves are ones he created for himself. In a sense, I guess I've never been too sure if Ereg is a good person with a litany of nasty flaws, or a bad person who seems to sometimes do the right thing by freak accident.

Either way, I find it funny.

As for newer Ereg this year? I been writing more this year. Just need to properly figure out a _goal_ the next chapter seeks to accomplish so I can begin working at it in earnest. Because once that's through, I can move on with this roadmap I got.

Also, my accent ain't no Jive. I'll have you know I was accused of being Scottish just this past week!


	15. Chapter 13: Dad Date

Chapter 13: Dad Date

— 52 —

 _Ring._

"Hello?" Danny Hebert answered.

"Heya. I want you ask you out on a date," I said.

Silence.

"So, like," Danny said, just rolling with it, "are you thinking going out to the movies, or more like a stroll along the boardwalk? I need to know what to wear."

"Mr. Hebert, that's creepy," I said, pacing around my room. I hated phonecalls. Face to face was always better. "But I still want to invite you along, too. And my dad. Are you working today, sir?"

"Who is this?" he asked.

"Greg Veder. I called last night needing Taylor's help."

"Oh." There was an edge to his voice. "Our deal last night still stands. Those girls do anything, you back up my daughter, got it?"

I nodded. "I made a deal, man to man. Don't worry, sir. Could you answer my question, please?"

"I'm not working today. Why?" Suspicion.

"Monday I had lunch with your daughter, sir. I threw out the idea of going on a 'dad date;' that is, you and Taylor and me and my father. My dad thinks the idea's hilarious and is all for it. If nothing else, you could make a friend. Mr. Hebert, sir."

"Maybe. But you're paying for the movie tickets."

"Paying, yes. Movies, no. My dad and I can pick you two up, if it helps."

Lord Woofers the Indomitable tackled a squeaky toy as I paced.

Danny sighed. "And just where do you want to take me and my daughter?"

"A shooting range."

He hung up.

Dammit, that was my thing! And Tattletale's, but she could die in a fire.

I redialed.

— 53 —

At noon my dad—Jeremiah Veder, Empire 88's famed "Aryan versus Predator" himself—pulled the pickup truck into the Heberts' driveway. He honked the horn.

I sat shotgun, heart pounding as we waited for the Heberts to show up. You'd think after the Simurgh, Simone, and PRT business, this would be nothing. But meeting Taylor and her father? Nah, it was like defcon one over here.

Taylor must never know. Once a girl sees weakness, that's it! She'd pounce and tear me to shreds.

But waiting on TayTay the Eyegouger was better than the alternative. That is, dwelling on last night, Simone, and Lisa.

Simone hadn't elaborated on her final cryptic remark, and she wasn't answering my texts either. And save for Tattletale calling me, nothing had happened all the way back home.

I had considered taking Lord Woofers with me to the range, but all the loud noises would probably scare him. Plus, bullets had gunpowder, and frankly I did not trust the dog anywhere near that stuff.

"Well, I'm done waiting." Jerry turned the truck off and exited. "C'mon, Greg. Let's walk your date to her limo ourselves."

"And walk yours, too," I said, hopping out.

"Double date, right, right," he said, smiling.

In person, Taylor's house sucked. I know it wasn't so great in Worm, but it just looked so… depressing. The least Danny could go was get a garden gnome or something. Instead, the house looked like how Danny felt when I'd read about him in Worm. Like how pets and people start to look alike over the years, but for houses.

Dad and I stepped up to the door and it opened.

Danny stood there, a guarded look on his face. Taylor peeked around from behind him. She wore a hoodie and track pants, both baggy and drab.

Smiling wide, Dad reached out and shook Danny's hand. "Mr. Hebert, it's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Jeremiah Veder, but you can call me Jerry." My dad had a few inches over Danny. Take that, inferior dwarf father!

Danny shook in kind.

"Mr. Hebert," I said, offering a hand.

He just looked at the hand, judging it. He didn't move to shake.

Mostly behind him, Taylor folded her arms. "In case you're wondering if that's the hand he masturbates with, the answer is yes—and so is the other one."

Everyone stared at her.

She slapped a hand over her mouth. Her cheeks looked afire.

I'd forgotten how much she liked insulting me. It was probably some kind of automatic response with her.

Jerry laughed. "Well," he said, trying to breathe, "if this is the girl you've had your eyes on, I can see why you started gyming out, son. Gotta handle her some way, huh?"

"I'm sorry," Danny said, a little awkwardly. "She's not usually like this."

"No, I'd say she's usually like this," I told him, trying not to enjoy the look on her face. "At least when I'm around. Maybe I just bring out the best in her?"

"I… I think," Taylor said, "I'll just go back inside and kill myself."

Danny swallowed. "Taylor, I think you should apologize."

Taylor made no move to do so. Danny gave her a push forwards.

Caught in the middle of us—Danny behind, blocking the door, and me and Dad in front—Taylor froze. For several heartbeats, she just stood there, looking shocked. Cautiously, wordlessly, she turned to Danny. He wore a good-natured, fatherly grin, which slowly turned to confusion, then something else.

I could only guess at what message passed silently between them, but Taylor slowly let out a breath, and some of the tension seemed to leave her shoulders.

She turned back to me with less of a glare than I'd have expected. I gave her a wink and a smile.

Face reddening again, she mumbled out something that might have been an apology.

Deciding she'd suffered enough, I said, "Well, that's good enough for me. Besides, I'm sure this is somehow completely my fault anyway."

Jerry and Danny shared a look.

"Who taught you the secret ways of womenfolk?" Jerry asked suspiciously.

"I'm like the dog whisperer," I said, nodding. _But for bitches_. "'Cept for girls."

I turned to TayTay. "So, Taylor, you feel like shooting something?"

— 54 —

In Worm, Danny had been a side character at best. He never really interacted with anyone but Taylor. He came across as this depressed, pathetic little man who couldn't run a family.

Seeing him chatting with someone like Jerry, he was a whole different person.

He smiled. He laughed. He gestured with with hands.

Even Taylor couldn't help keep down a smile as she watched. Those were so rare, so precious that if the car broke down here and now, today might still have been worth it for that alone.

Before it could vanish, I snapped a photo of it. I needed evidence of this for future generations. Somehow she didn't notice. God bless silent smartphones.

It was a good picture, too.

"Having fun yet?" I asked her, putting the phone away.

Taylor shrugged. "I don't know. I mean, this is literally the worst date anyone has ever taken me on."

I grinned. "In other words, your first."

She rolled her eyes.

"Ah, don't worry, Taylor" I said, elbowing her. "Stick with me and it'll be all downhill from here."

"How can a thing go downhill if it already starts at rock bottom?"

"I own stock in a shovel company."

The pickup bounced as we turned up onto a gravel road. The leaves here were still green. I'd spent so long in rural Florida, where every season was summer, that I had no idea when they would change.

I assumed it'd've happened already, today being the 28th of August and all. But no.

They still made for a lovely view as we drove by. It was peaceful. Relaxing. _Normal_. I could almost pretend last night never happened.

In minutes we were atop the hill, parking. Dad's truck was the only vehicle there. On the other side of the gravel parking lot was a chain link fence, wherebeyond lay a firing range with a huge dirt mound at the far end.

Brockton Bay was the other way. From the range there was a good view of the city.

We all got out. I helped Dad lug the sleeved rifles and the backpack of ammo out of the truck. It gave me a chance to flex my awesome muscles at Taylor. While I was no beefcake muscle man, I'd given Greg a ghost of good tone these last few months. I had to allow TayTay ample opportunity to admire.

The range belonged to the American Legion. As a veteran, Dad had access to it. He unlocked the gate and we entered.

"I think we should start with rifles," Jerry said, taking a seat at a bench. There were lots of those, plus tables to fire from. "I find them more satisfying to shoot. Bolt actions especially."

I knew just the one. From a weapon sleeve I took out a vintage, Second World War era Kar98k. The Wehrmacht's weapon of choice. If you're not a gun nut, you have no idea how rare and valuable those were. Honestly, I felt excited just to touch it.

I understood why Jerry had brought it along. For a gun nut, this was as good as him saying, "Son, I am doing everything in my power to help you get laid." If Taylor understood the rifle's value, she'd probably already be naked.

Jerry showed the Heberts the weapon and told them basic rules of gun safety—treat every gun like it's loaded and safety's off even if you know otherwise, never point it at people, finger off the trigger unless you intend to kill, and so forth—before letting them hold it. Feel its weight. Experiment with the bolt.

He demonstrated proper techniques for holding, loading, and firing the weapon.

It was nothing new to me, not by a long shot for a Southern country boy. But Jerry made it sound like poetry. Plus it never hurt to get a refresher. Safety—never overlook it.

He went over it twice, making the Heberts repeat it for him, before he let me load and fire the weapon for demonstration.

I felt bad when I ran out of ammo and had to give it to Danny to reload and fire.

But after getting it right and firing down range, the odd little smile on his face was worth it.

Taylor got her chance next. The recoil made her jump. I couldn't recall if she had fired a rifle in canon. Only handguns if I remembered rightly. Well, I was making sure that in this timeline, she'd be a pro.

Jerry suggested Taylor and I take a rifle and go down the firing stalls. Get a little room together. Danny hesitated, but nodded.

I shouldered a rifle, pocketed a box of rounds, and took Taylor's hand. She let me lead her to the last stall on the range.

For extra safety, I went over procedures with her. This rifle was a semi-automatic AK of some description, black finish with a custom sight. It was a weapon I could disassemble and put back together with my eyes closed, thanks to my Eric father. In his words, you had to treat your AK "like your bitch," which he'd punctuated by punching the receiver closed.

Danny and Dad got to firing on their side of the range, pausing to chat now and then.

"So," Taylor said as I handed her the rifle. "What's the story with you and Winged_One?"

She held it alright, but her shouldering was wrong. I stood behind her and moved her limbs into proper position. Didn't want the recoil hurting her.

"I needed her help is all," I said.

"And?" Taylor asked. I patted her hand and gave a thumbs up. She fired two rounds, then adjusted her glasses.

"I got my accounts back at least." And my dog, but it wouldn't do to out myself right here.

I fixed her position again. Dad saw how I was still holding onto her, ensuring her form remained tight, and gave me a thumb's up. When Danny began to turn his head towards us, Dad distracted him back to the guns.

Taylor fired off a few more rounds. This time her posture remained steady. It was an improvement. She turned to me, and for the sake of not getting my toes shot off I reached out and flicked the safety on.

"You also said something about a supervillainess. That have anything to do with the fight at the PRT building?" she asked.

 _Yes_. "Whatcha mean?"

She shrugged. "Lotta capes showed up there. Only one of them had wings."

"Uh-huh," I said. "There's also this account called All_Seeing_Eye who spent all of last night liking old, obscure posts of mine. Following your logic, she'd be a giant floating eye."

"You know a disembodied eye girl?" she asked. Then: "Is she hotter than me?"

I shrugged, suppressing a grin. "In my defense, she has really nice eyelashes."

"Serves me right for asking. But really, who's the supervillainess? I figured you'd be shouting her name from the rooftops by now, even if all you did was personally piss her off."

My lips tightened. "I didn't piss her off. _She_ fucked _me_ over. Now it's… complicated. Don't mean I don't wish she'd die a fire, though."

"And I'm guessing that if I keep asking, you're still not going to tell me the details. I don't know what you've gotten yourself involved in, but… at least tell me you didn't join a gang."

"Dad was in one," I said, nodding to Jerry. "But I'd rather start a sexy cult or something than join a gang."

"So, you'd be like the Heartbreaker of Brockton Bay?"

"Yeah, but a kid of his is already here, so that'd just make things awkward," I said without thinking.

Taylor paused and gave me a suspicious look before flicking the safety off. "Is it Emma?" She fired a shot. "Last I checked you two had some sort of completely unexplained business together, and she is the type to fuck people over. Also she should die in a fire, so she fits the description perfectly."

"Just because she's a bitch doesn't mean she's a supervillain."

"Wait, so lapdance girl's a _hero_?" Another shot.

"I didn't say that."

"She must have inherited her powers from her real dad, Heartbreaker, and brainwashed a fake family for herself here." Taylor nodded to herself. "Then she started mastering people at school into liking her. It explains why she's so popular, despite obviously being a complete bitch."

"I think that's more to do with hormones."

She scrunched up her face and fired off a few more rounds. "You mean, like, a biotinker? Does she use her powers through lapdance installments? And the moment you get the final one, you're free, right?"

"I… that depends. Can I use this to convince you to give me a lapdance?" Also, biotinker? Someone had been spending a lot of time on PHO lately.

"Sure," she said happily, "but only in front of my dad. At this shooting range. While he's holding a loaded gun."

I gave a long, drawn out sigh. "In that case, Emma ain't no cape, Taylor."

"I know. I was just seeing how long I could keep you going for." Taylor grinned and held the rifle sideways, twisting her wrist to see her watch. "Seventy-nine seconds. Must be some sort of new record for you."

Taylor was grinning. _Grinning!_ Part of me felt petulant, the other part felt proud. I whipped out my phone and snapped a quick photo.

"Hey, what was that about?" she asked.

"Proof that you enjoyed the date, no matter how you try to deny it later."

Taylor gave me suspicious look. Then she raised the rifle pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. She gave the gun a frown.

"It's empty," I said. "You need to manually refill the magazine, like I showed you." I helped her make sure the rifle was safe before taking out the magazine and giving her a box of bullets.

She got to work loading it. I sat down next to her and helped her out.

— 55 —

"So are you buying me dinner with your henching money?" Taylor asked, poking at a basket of breadsticks. Dad and Danny had their own table halfway across the restaurant, where they talked between bouts of pretending not to watch us—one proud and encouraging, the other cautiously optimistic.

"Henching?" I asked. "I already told you I didn't join a gang."

"I know. Gang members don't get paid; henchmen do. For someone who spends all his time on cape forums, you sure are behind on the lingo."

"I don't spend all my time of cape forums."

"Which is why when you needed help, the first place you looked was a cape forum. Were you looking for a henching job?"

"Dammit, Taylor, I don't spend all day on PHO and I don't work for supervillains."

She tilted her head. "Right. You fight them. I take it you're joining the Wards next week?"

I stared at her hard.

Taylor ate another free breadstick. When she was mostly done chewing, she said, "Fine, but I'm going to keep taking wild guesses about what happened last night until you tell me."

"It's a game I'll willing to play, TayTay."

She shrugged and pointed a breadstick at me. "So, who's your favorite Ward? Is it Vista? I bet it is."

While I did still have that signed Vista T-shirt from last night, no, she was not. I was pretty sure Noelle killed her and I wasn't about to get attached to walking corpses. No sir. And due to the nature of Taylor, Worm's focal character currently sitting across from me and munching on breadsticks, that usually meant only villains survived.

I mean, the Undersiders were practically immortal.

"Who's _your_ favorite villain?" I asked.

Taylor tapped her chin. "Armsmaster."

"He's a hero."

"Don't you watch Dog Whisperer?" she asked.

"I keep hearing about it."

"Last night was the season two premiere. The villain was Halberdier von Puppysnatch. Dog Whisperer teamed up with some cape woman in a fedora to stop him."

"And I'm assuming von Puppysnatch was basically Armsmaster?"

"But with an eyepatch and Welsh accent. He was complex. Had a cool backstory and was rather likable, despite being kind of an asshole."

"Welsh? Why not German?"

"Like I said, he was complex. I liked his sensible stance on immigration."

"Just what the hell kind of show is Dog Whisperer?" _In this universe_ , I nearly added.

"It used to be a dog-themed detective show. But it slowly evolved into a morally grey and complex story where a ruggedly handsome cape travels America in an impala, fighting villains and monsters alongside his dogs." She shrugged. "I wasn't sure of the change in direction from the first season, but it seems to be working for them."

I tried to imagine it, but ended up shaking my head. Something I might just have to watch to wrap my head around.

Unsure how to respond, I took up a breadstick in my fingers and gave it a little flick experimentally. It swished through the air like some kind of oily, high-carb sword. In idea struck me. Before I knew it, I had used it to bat Taylor's breadstick out of her hand.

She looked at her fallen stick, frowning. Then she took up the last fresh breadstick and tried to return the favor.

I wasn't having it. I was a fencer at heart. I even owned a sword back home in Florida. Never used it, mind you, but I had one. That had to count for something.

En garde, Taylor Hebert, ye fifteen year old terror in the making!

Our sticks broke in half just as things were heating up.

Someone cleared their throat. The waiter with our dinner.

"Breadsticks are free, right?" Taylor asked.

"Mmhm," the waiter hummed.

"Can you get us some more and make them cost money? I'm not paying and I need to best my date."

He nodded, refilled my water, and left.

"How's it like knowing Greg Veder finally got you out on a date?" I asked. "And that you're enjoying yourself thereon?"

Distantly something inside said this was actually a frakking awful turn of events. I had Simone and Lisa to deal with; I didn't need Queen Bittersnark in on this, too.

I shut that voice up. Consequences were for later. And I'd promised myself not to think of those girls.

Taylor grabbed a fork and rolled her eyes. "Alright, that's it. Just for that remark I'm ordering, like, three desserts."

"When the waiter returns I'm going to ask him for a group photo to immortalize this moment."

" _Four_ desserts," she threatened.

I shrugged. "Hey, suit yourself. If I'm lucky, all those carbs will go straight to your booty."

"I said _order_ , not that I'd actually eat them."

"A risk I'm willing to take, TayTay."

— 56 —

Maybe it was the encroaching darkness. Or maybe it was the mood the Heberts were in. But their house looked a little less bleak when we dropped them off.

"Go on," Jerry said, leaning against the truck, "walk her home. Let Danny and I talk."

I held a hand out to Taylor. She actually took it and let me help her down from the truck.

Jerry and Danny got to exchanging numbers and talking about doing something like this again. I smiled. It was nice seeing them becoming friends.

"He's right," I told Taylor. "Let's leave the old men to their devices."

We walked to the front door. She went to take out her keys, but had a little trouble, mostly because she had actually gone and bought five fucking desserts and then put them in a bag to go. I'd paid for them all, too, because I'm a complete and total simp.

Taylor unlocked the door, then turned to me. Danny and Jerry were still busy on the other side of the truck.

"So," she said, fingering her key.

"Normally," I said with a wink, "this is the part where you tell me you had a great time and kiss me. Unless you're afraid that'd make for the worst kiss of your life, too."

She scrunched up her face. "Whoa, not so fast there, cowboy. I'm a traditional girl. That's for date two. Date one is hand holding."

"Even better. What happens on the third?" I waggled my brows.

With mock sadness she said, "Actually, Greg, I'm sorry, I don't think it's going to work out between us."

I blinked.

"You're not a gang member, and you're not a henchman. That means you're a supervillain. And I'm hero material, you see," she continued.

"Maybe we're like Romeo and Juliet?"

Without missing a beat, she countered, "Good point, especially the double suicide at the end. You go first."

I rolled my eyes.

"Alright. _Fine_ ," she said, crossing her arms. "So today was kinda fun. We can still do lunch together on the roof Monday, if you'd like."

"I'll bring my homemade cookies."

She smiled. "I'll hold you to that, Greg."

"So long as I get to hold you," I said with a wink. I couldn't help it; some lines are just too corny to go unspoken. Teasing girls came naturally to me, and I wasn't the sort to worry about whether that's all it was, or if it actually meant something.

But I'd be lying if I said I hadn't enjoyed the date. As much as Taylor pretended to hate me, she had too (I had the photos to prove it!). There was a certain chemistry between us.

Taylor didn't meet my eyes. Softly, she said, "You know those signs around campsites saying don't feed the animals? I feel like that's what I did tonight, and it's only a matter of time before it bites me in the ass."

She sighed. "I like you, Greg. I'm just not sure getting involved with you is a good idea. I don't know when you learned to keep a secret, but you did. And that's not all. You're _different_ now. Almost as if you're…"

I grinned. "Slightly less of a dick now?"

She blinked.

No grin. No snarky comeback. She blinked again.

"What?" Her voice was small.

I chuckled a little. "You know, a dick. I'm slightly less of one recently, so…"

I shut the hell up, but it was too late. Taylor looked at me, eyes wide.

I could almost see her putting it all together in her head. She _had_ been spending a lot of time on PHO lately. She had to have seen Void Cowboy's unique badge, _my_ badge, if not the announcement itself. There was no way she'd miss the reference. Combine that with everything else she'd gleamed from me tonight?

Shit.

Because _of course_ I just needed to make one last clever quip before the night ended.

I didn't even see her slam the door.

I just stood there, heart thumping.

I could pass this off as nothing on Monday when I went up to the roof to bother her. Worst come worst, I could just avoid her. Ignoring your problems was a guarantee they'd go away.

Right?

I passed Mr. Hebert on the way back to the truck. I absently gave him a nod and what I hoped was a sincere "Good night, Mr. Hebert." I had no idea what he said in return.

I got into the truck with Dad and let out a heavy breath.

He put the key in the ignition, but didn't turn it. Instead, he looked at me and shook his head. "Didn't get that good night kiss you wanted, huh?"

I buried my head in my hands and let it fall onto the dashboard. "Why is it," I asked, "that every time I think things are going well with a girl, it goes straight to hell?"

Dad laughed and started the engine.

"You're a Veder, son. Didn't I tell you?"

* * *

a/n Remember that dad date Greg offered Taylor? Here it is. And it's as horrible as you thought. I think it's a mix of the Simurgh's appearance having accidentally put Taylor into a better place mentally as well as the fact that _this is Greg_ , but she's come out this chpater as a mix of her younger motor mouth self with her older, more cynical self we see in Worm proper. I like it.

* * *

Comment of the Day: **Someguy the Anon**

 _...please no polygamy._  
 _on another note will Tattle tale try to do appease original Greg and disgust Ereg? or will she simply try to meet him in his civie_

Are you crazy? Trying to date even one of these girls is just suicide by other means! Besides, _we're not talking about those two girls right now because they suck_.  
And TT doesn't see or fully understands the difference between Greg and Ereg. T oher, they're the same person. Only Simone fully grasps this

* * *

Bonus Comment: **1Batman4you**

 _Let the shipping wars commence!_

The only person getting hurt in this war is Greg. Because there is no victory for him in sight. Only an endless void of suffering, becuase after all—  
 _The waifus are restless._


	16. Chapter 14: Big Trouble in Little Waifu

Chapter 14: Big Trouble in Little Waifu Town

— 57 —

Chicken.

Bacon.

Did you know they made the stuff? Or, more to the point, while for the life of me I couldn't found it back home in the South, that Wormverse's Brockton Bay had it at a few local groceries.

And that was frakin' awesome. I could only hope it was like chicken bacon back home, and not the result of some tinker's abomination of science that gave pigs feathers and beaks _and_ made them low calorie.

Wondering over that was a damn sight better than thinking about girl problems. But as I sat out behind Winslow High, eating a chicken bacon on a homemade low-carb garlic bagel, those felt distant. A problem for future or past me, not the me of today with my tasty, low carb, medium calorie lunch.

Denial was the first step to fixing a problem, after all. And sometimes the last.

The only thing that dared ruin my blissful me time was a text from Emma.

 _Emma: where r u?_

I added her to the list of things I wasn't going to deal with right this now.

I felt content and had me a nice place to eat alone. No need to involve her. Sure, this spot was pretty much just a loading bay for trucks to bring stuff to the lunchroom, but it was _private_.

There was a door nearby that didn't have immediate visibility over this little nook, and if things went sour, I could probably duck into the loading bay or climb over the nearby dumpster and onto a low bit of roof. Maybe get into a second floor window.

Really, the only issue with the place was all the grey concrete and that nearby dumpster. It had been tagged so many times I couldn't tell which gang claimed it. As we all knew, he who owns the garbage owns society. It's how the mafia came to power in New York and Chicago.

Ten bucks said Taylor had tried hiding here before.

Lord Woofers popped his head out of my backpack, where I'd hidden him most of the day, and I fed him a bit of roasted chicken breast I'd bought.

And yes, I had him with me. It was either that or leave him home alone, since Dad was working and I didn't exactly trust Mom with the dog. After we'd returned home from the gun range Saturday, we'd found her cowering in a corner, terrified of him. Something about him figuring out how to turn the oven on, opening it up, and giving her an "expectant look", she had claimed.

She'd also forgotten to feed him.

I still had to figure out what to do with him. It seemed so far away, but the reason I had really decided to go after Woofers, in part, was because Dinah had wanted a puppy for her birthday. I'd been rather late on delivering him, since she had turned however old a week or so ago.

Now, after all the shit I went through to get him, I was rather tempted to keep him myself.

Lord Woofers yapped at a crow that was eyeing our food, and it flew off.

"Ssh and eat your lunch," I said, petting him. An idea struck me. "Hey, Woofers, you got a pretty good sense for women, right?

He tilted his head.

"Think you could help prevent another Lisa moment?" I asked.

The little guy licked my hand. As good a yes as any.

I sighed, leaning against Winslow High. Out here, I was mercifully alone. Just me and the dog.

"Okay, boy, I'm going to give you a very important job. Since your judgement on girls is better than mine, I need you to warn me whenever a heinous bitch gets near. Think you can do that?"

He barked and rolled over.

I rubbed his wittle tummy-tums.

The nearby door creaked open on scratchy hinges.

I picked Woofers up and stashed him in my backpack with a quick "Sorry" and "Be good, okay?"

Fast I could, I picked up my sandwich and tried to pretend like I was just eating.

"Huh, so there he is," a girl said. I looked over to see a petite thing, no taller than five feet, with a bored look on her face. "Great. Now I get to eat lunch."

I ran through a list of names.

"Madison?" I asked.

She shrugged, walking over to me. "Yeah. Guess I am."

A part of me was surprised. Not that she was here, but that she was about the height I had imagined her. From what I'd read, Wildbow had this unfortunate habit of never being consistent with the height of his female characters.

My personal theory was that the girls in Worm were made of flubber and their height varied based on the weather. Of course, to test this hypothesis I'd need to push a girl down a flight or two of stairs and see if she bounced.

I had a sudden desire to meet Lisa again.

But I had to focus on Madison. I asked, "And you're here because…?"

Madison sighed, leaning against the wall. "Because Emma and Sophia want you."

"So you're all looking for me?"

"No, just me. I get to be team errand girl and go get Greg Veder. _Greg Veder_." She clapped her hands and gave and unenthusiastic "Yay."

I took another bite of my sandwich. "I don't get it."

"It's because Sophia and Emma don't wanna stop being cool for five minutes and get you themselves, so they make other people do it." She folded her arms, frowning. "Also, Emma texted you once and doesn't want to look desperate doing it again."

"In other words, Emma is like a cat?" I asked.

Madison raised a brow.

Imitating Emma's voice, I said, "Oh, Greg? You came all this way for me? You shouldn't have. Why, no, I wasn't looking for you. I was just sitting here, casually licking my—" I trailed off. "Whatever a lady cat licks."

"Her leg?"

I shrugged. "Sure, let's go with that."

After a moment, Madison sighed. "So, you gonna come with or what?"

"What if I just stayed here?"

She put a hand to her breast in mock offense. "And leave poor little me to find my way back through the gang-infested halls alone and unprotected? You monster!"

"As if you'd have a problem, Madison. You're the kind of girl who never has to pay for her lunch."

The girl put her hands on her hips. "Only because I keep getting mugged, and that's the only way for me to eat. Have you _seen_ me, Greg? If I miss a meal, that's it, I'm done; I wither away and die."

"Sounds like you don't need to bring lunch money at all, huh?"

Madison pursed her lips. "If I don't bring lunch money, what would those thugs take, Greg? What would they take?"

"Your dignity?"

She gave a bitter sigh. "Emma and Sophia already have that."

I finished my sandwich.

"Last Thursday," she said, "I finally managed to escape with a bit of my money and buy some juice from the vending machine. I was going to have it in class, where it was safe, but then I tripped and it spilled all over Taylor's chair. I told her it was an accident, but the way she glared at me…" Her voice grew quiet. "I think she hates me."

She sounded pretty sincere. Good actress.

" _Right_ ," I said. "I might even believe you, if I didn't know for a fact this sort of thing has happened over and over again."

"I'm a serial klutz?"

"Sure," I said, folding my arms.

"Look, if you're done with lunch, can we get on with this? I'm really hungry and if I wait too long I won't be able to convince a guy to buy me food." She pouted.

I took out a homemade protein cookie and slowly nibbled on it. Monday was workout day, so I needed all the protein I could handle.

Her pout turned into a full blown frown. "Please?"

I considered, then wolfed the cookie down.

"Alright, alright, Madison. Only because I want to get this trainwreck over with sooner rather than later."

"Nice," she said. "Just do me a solid? See if you can say something nice about Emma's shirt. It's new. She'll never admit it, but I think she's trying to impress someone."

— 58 —

Apparently, Emma and Sophia didn't care to hang around in the lunchroom. Because being predictable would just ruin my day. Instead, they elected to mosey on down a hallway and off to the side, where all the vending machines were.

I don't know why standing next to six foot tall corporate junk food logos was what the cool kids were doing, but hey, whatever worked.

I'd abandoned Miz "I literally have the endurance of a hummingbird" Madison somewhere along the way.

When I entered the room—more a large nook, really—I found Emma alone, frowning at one of the vending machines. She tried kicking it, but the thing didn't even budge.

I couldn't help but notice she was wearing a tight, form-fitting t-shirt depicting a howling wolf's head, complete with the words "Survivor" written across the top.

It was a nice shirt. I might even have called it hot, if the first thought through my head wasn't that my mom had one just like it.

I really hoped Emma wasn't trying to impress _me_ with it, but a sinking feeling told me she probably was.

She noticed my reflection in the shiny vending machine plastic and turned to me, all smiles. "Hey, Greg. Now that you've finished checking me out, do me a favor and shake the machine? I got hungry and wanted to get an Armsmaster cookie, but the stupid thing got stuck."

Branding on the front declared it a Protectorate issue vending machine, selling licensed hero-branded junk food and drinks to impressionable teenagers. I raised a brow.

"What? They're _really_ good."

"Maybe it's for the best. All them sugars and carbs would probably ruin your macros, and that's how you get fat."

Emma crossed her arms. "I've seen you eat cookies before."

"Yes. Made with zero carb whey protein. One carb, ten grams of protein, and a dash of love in each one."

"What, your mom make them for you?"

"Nope. I bake 'em myself," I said with pride.

"Huh." She just looked at me. "We're basically eating the same thing, only the Armscookies are also tinker-designed to not taste like sawdust."

"Newsflash, Emma Barnes—love and fitness both taste exactly like sawdust."

"Not Armscookies. Armsmaster himself eat 'em by the dozen and he's crazy fit. Says so on the package."

I gave her a look. "You ever seen him outta armor?"

"Well, no. But everyone's pretty sure he's fit."

"I have," I said in a firm voice. Technically read, or listened, since I followed the audiobook, but whatever. I would've remembered if Colin Wallis, AKA Armsmaster, had ever stood in front of a mirror and flexed. No fit man can resist doing that.

"How…" she began, only to trail off.

I tapped a finger to my right temple.

Emma nodded. "Right, right, becauses of reasons."

I glanced around. "Where's Sophia?"

She gestured towards the bathroom.

Sophia, as if on cue, pushed the door open and stepped out. She was breathing a touch heavy, her clothes a little disheveled. She tried to act normal by fixing up the half ponytail, half bun she'd done her hair up in.

We met eyes. "Do I even wanna ask?"

Sophia blew out a puff of air. "I was doing you a favor."

I nodded. "I hope it was as good for you as it was for me."

Sophia glared. Then she went up to the Protectorate vending machine, slipped a coin into the slot, and in a stilted voice said, "Oh no, I am being sexually harassed. Please help."

A fist-sized metal apple flew out of the machine. It narrowly missed my head before clanging against the opposite wall. As it clattered to the ground, it hissed out a small stream of containment foam that was as awkward as it was pathetic.

In a metal voice, the vending machine announced, "Criminal detainment failed. Insert coin to try again."

I looked from the canister to the girls before muttering, "What the actual fuck just happened?"

"PRT vending machines at their finest," Sophia said, frowning.

"Not finest," Emma pointed out. "I heard the one at Arcadia turns into a dragon, wraps around criminals until the police arrive, and doesn't even charge you for it. Of course, it's never once needed to be used."

I blinked. "Wait, so, they're supposed to stop bad guys?"

Sophia cleared her throat and gestured the sign above the vending machine.

 _This machine provides both safety and healthy food at affordable prices_ , it declared, alongside a picture of Alexandria giving a thumbs up.

Neither of those seemed to be especially true.

"So," Emma said, clapping her hands together. "Now you're here. Finally."

"To what end?" I asked, giving occasional glances to the sad pile of containment foam over in the corner.

"To hang out?"

"All this effort for that?"

She nodded. "You're hard to get ahold of, Greg. You never answer texts or anything."

"And you never answer your phone. Especially not when I needed to reach you and thence Sophia Friday night."

Emma looked a little red of cheek. "Family went out for dinner, and my dad made me turn it off."

"What's your number?" Sophia asked. "I'll text you."

I told her. A moment later my phone buzzed.

"Nice," I said, saving her to my contacts. "Now next time I need help, I won't end up dialing Empire 88. Or worse."

Sophia cocked her head. I wondered if that was a habit she'd picked up from trying to look curious while wearing a mask. "You actually still have the card Kaiser gave you?"

"Saw that, eh? But yeah. Fat lotta good it did me. Fucking voicemail dungeon."

"You called _Kaiser_."

"I called damn near everyone I could think me of, Sophia. Even Taylor, and she was a damn sight more helpful than anyone else. Helped me get in contact with the heavy artillery."

"What?" She shared a worried glance with Emma.

Emma moved beside us. "Anywho," she said in what was almost a singsong. "Greg, now that we got your attention, wanna, like, hang out after school or something?"

"Hang out?"

She nodded. "Yeah. Like, go to the mall. Downtown. Stuff."

"Oh great. Now the girls are asking _me_ out. Ain't no way this can end in disaster."

"This isn't a date. We just need you to have something a little more fashionable if we're going to be seen together regularly. We actually planned to invite you last Monday after school, but then that stupid girl showed up, and this is our first chance since then."

They meant Simone.

On another note, my heinous bitch alarm wasn't going off in my backpack. Either that meant this offer was safe, or I needed to recalibrate my dog.

I let out a breath. "Know what, sure? I already did my workout before school, so no real need to rush home."

"Sweet," Emma said, turning slightly to go. "Text you after school, okay? And actually _answer_ this time, please?"

I gave a noncommittal shrug, and the girls left.

I sighed. This would probably end in horrific amounts of drama, as things tended to do around me when they involved the opposite sex. Still, worrying about problems before they happened was basically a one-way ticket to brooding, angsty heroesville, and I had long ago resolved never to go there.

Any hey, who knows—maybe this time I'd be able to get the rest of that lap dance without interruption.

From the corner of my eye, I saw the girl's bathroom door swing open. Simone stepped out and made a beeline for the Protectorate vending machine. Without so much as a pause, she reached into the item slot and came out with a palm-sized Armscookie, which she held up for a moment with a shit-eating grin before unwrapping.

She had it halfway to her mouth before noticing me staring.

"What?" she said innocently. "It just fell down on its own. Honest."

I ignored her obvious lie, too busy noticing how her mostly healed black eye had come back in full force, and brought friends. It occurred to me that this must have been the _favor_ Sophia had mentioned.

Not that Simone seemed to pay it any mind.

She looked at the cookie, then broke it in half. "Want some?"

— 59 —

A few minutes later, I sat on a railing on the outskirts of Winslow, by a small field of dying grass. I watched Simone hunker down before me and offer my half of the Armscookie to Lord Woofers, who happily gobbled it down right out of her hand.

That was probably bad for his health, but he seemed happy. This could be his one and only cheat day.

She rolled him onto his back and rubbed his tummy.

I wasn't sure what to say. _So, if I tell you something, will you promise not to get mad and cut my face up again? Okay, good. I went out on a date with Taylor yesterday._

Because that'd go over just dandy.

Simone broke the silence. "He's looking a lot better than he was Friday night. I wouldn't have thought it, but maybe you are some kind of dog whisperer yourself. Your house is still standing?"

"Last I checked."

"It's kinda hard to believe just how crazy things have gotten lately. Endbringers coming down and not destroying anything. Heroes acting like villains. Villains selling t-shirts. A puppy making Brockton Bay's most wanted list." She shook her head, then grinned ruefully. "Greg Veder getting asked out on a date."

"Ya heard that part? Ain't mad?"

She shrugged before falling down into a sitting position. "Oh I only snuck out in the middle of the evening, drunk, and fought like every hero in the city all for you so that you could save a puppy, and not even three days pass before you're hanging out with a buncha floozies. Not mad at all."

I tried not to wince. "Technically that started the very next day."

Simone took a sharp breath through her nose. "Ain't mad a tick."

Neither of us said anything for a long moment.

I broke the silence. "So what are you looking to get out of all this? You want me to ignore all the other girls and just be your boyfriend? Because if that's all you want out of life, one, that's pretty sad, and two, you're fixin' to be disappointed."

She made a sound somewhere between a giggle and a snort. "Pfft. One knife to the face, and you chicken out."

"Technically it was my face _and_ eyeball," I pointed out. "Especially the eyeball."

She punched my knee. "Don't be such a wuss, Greg. I can't believe you're still holding that against me. I said I'm sorry, and I made it up to you by helping you get the puppy back. Even if fighting the heroes made me sick. Besides, I'm cute, I'm fun, and every other girl you know either hates your guts or is a complete bitch, near as I can gather. I ain't gotta do squat and odds are I'll win by attrition."

"I didn't know you were the Siberian," I said.

"What?"

"You know, Siberia. Well, Russia in general, technically. Where armies go to die of attrition. Sweden, France, Germany. Y'know?"

She kept staring. "So I'm a frigid wasteland whose only warmth is booze?"

"If your number one goal is victory by attrition, then ya can't be beat."

Simone gave me a dry look. "I didn't come to Brockton Bay for you, Greg. _Eric_. I came because it was the first real chance for my dad to get a good, stable job, something we've needed for a long time. I didn't help you on Friday because I want you to like me badly enough to throw everything else away. I did it because I want to be a hero; my dad wouldn't let me join the Wards, and sometimes when you're stuck the only way to go forward is to fuck things up."

"So, what, you wanna get captured and pressganged into the Wards?" I asked. "That's… that's actually crazy enough to be your plan, isn't it? But after what you did, what if they catch you and just toss you in juvie instead? That seems more likely at this point."

She scratched Lord Woofers behind the ears. "Only because you can't see the whole plan. I've just gotta redeem myself before they catch me, is all."

"And how you gonna do that?"

"I don't know. But you, Void Cowboy, know lots of things. And you seem to get into all kinds of crazy shit. Figure if I piggyback you long enough, I'll get my chance."

"So I'm your means to an end?"

"Yep. I'll become a hero, make my dad proud, maybe even make a friend or two." She snapped her fingers. "Which reminds me: we're on for hanging out after school."

I blinked. "Cry your pardon?"

"You didn't expect me to just let those evil bitches sink their claws into you, did you? And besides my very heroic and noble goals, you need to get the black one to stop beating me up in defense of your honor, or whatever it is she thinks she's protecting."

"Any way I could stop you?" I asked lamely.

"Probably not."

The bell rang. Hello, end of lunch.

Simone hopped to her feet. The puppy by her feet looked a little startled by the sudden motion. He scampered over to my side, where I picked him up.

"So can I have your blessing, at least?" she prodded, rocking on her heels.

I sighed. "Fine, fine, you can come. But! You gotta promise not to grab Sophia's bust again."

"What? No!" Simone said. "I gotta do it to assert my dominance, or she won't respect me. That's how they end up humping your leg, y'know!"

I glared at her. Lord Woofers did, too. Or at least gazed in her general direction, already falling asleep in my arms.

She huffed. "Okay, _fine_ , I won't grab her boobs."

I kept staring.

"Or the redhead's."

That still left a lot of body parts.

"I'll be on my most heroic behavior," she added. "Promise."

— 60 —

"What is _she_ doing here?" Sophia asked, folding her arms protectively over her chest.

She and Emma were loafing around a small city bus stop just outside of school. Transit ran from here to the mall, apparently.

Simone, of course, had followed me. Not sure how she found me after school ended, especially without a phone. According to her, her dad had taken it away when she came home late Friday night and still hadn't returned it. I wondered if she'd gotten grounded because of what happened, but if she had, she wasn't letting it stop her from joining us today.

I put on my cockiest smile and said, "Oh, her? She's like a human chastity belt, here to make sure I don't end up impregnating either of you before the inevitable real date."

Emma and Sophia exchanged "yeah, right" glances.

"Seriously, though," Sophia said.

Simone elbow nudged me. When I didn't speak, she said, "Aw, c'mon, just tell 'em I'm your friend and they can stop attacking me."

"What, you mean _lie_?" I said.

Simone gave me a look that roughly translated as "don't make me get the knives out again".

I let out a long sigh. " _Fine_. Simone, meet Emma Barnes and Sophia Hess. Sophia and Emma, meet my friend and completely platonic stalker, Simone Morgan."

Simone reached out to shake Sophia's hand. She reluctantly took it.

"You don't need to worry," Simone said. "A lot of girls are on bigger on one side than the other, and I'm pretty sure it's not cancer."

"Oh, of course," Sophia said sarcastically. "You were only grabbing my chest out of concern for my health—why didn't I see that?" She glared. "Touch me again and I break you. And seriously, cancer? You expect anyone to believe that shit?"

Simone waved her hand. "Hey, for all you know I could secretly be, like, the Panacea of boobs. Except, you know. Not dead and/or missing. And I wouldn't bother with the whole asky-before-touchy bit."

I blinked. "Wait, what?"

"It's a joke, Greg." Simone rolled her eyes. "I know I'm pretty amazing with all the things I can do, but I can't actually heal boobs."

"No, no, no, before that. Panacea's missing?"

Emma crossed her arms. "You're only learning this _now_?"

Simone sighed, patting me on the head. "Greg here ain't exactly the most balanced seal on the ball sometimes."

"What does that even mean?" I asked.

Simone continued without pause, "Y'know I heard from one of my friends online that he doesn't even watch Dog Whisperer."

Emma gasped in mock horror.

"No really, what's all this about Panacea?" I asked, a bit nervously.

Sophia leaned up against a guard rail. "Rumor says the Undersiders probably took her, but they're denying it, and nobody's sent in a demand for ransom or anything."

Was that a bit of sweat on my brow? Oh, hello there. I might have been the last person to have seen her that night, and there wasn't anything in canon about this.

"Huh," I said to buy some time. "That's a bit of a surprise."

Think, Greg, think!

It probably wasn't the Undersiders, knowing them, but then again, kidnapping a powerful cape might be up Coil's alley. Could be the whole night was a plot to do just that, with the Undersiders as a distraction.

I could see it now. Panana-banana-cea left the others to confront me alone in the alley. I beat her up and left her in the dumpster to save my duster from her vile clutches. With all the heroes busy during the fight, Coil's goons could have just nabbed her while she was pulling herself free.

"You okay there?" Emma asked.

Simone shushed her. "I think he's doing his power thing. Just watch. This is gonna be awesome."

"Wait, you know about that?" Sophia blurted out.

I ignored them.

Only problem with my theory was that it almost sounded like I was to blame. Well, maybe 20% to blame. The rest was Pancakes' fault for coming after me, and Coil's for abducting her.

Of course, this was all speculation. Something else could have happened to her. Got hit by a bus, for example, or ran away from home because her mother's a bitch. It wouldn't be the first time, if you counted future events that happened in Worm, that is.

I considered hitting up Coil on PHO and asking if he knew anything, but I somehow doubted that would net me an honest response one way or the other.

I _did_ have Lisa's cell, though, and last I checked she hated Coil enough to dick him over. Maybe enough to throw me a bone. It just meant actually having to talk to her.

"Shit," I hissed. "I gotta make a call. Be right back, aight?"

"Good luck," Simone said.

I walked away, leaving the girls to themselves. My heart pounded, as much from worry as anxiety because I was calling a bitch like Lisa. Plus I still hated phone calls; always made me uneasy for some reason.

Face-to-face any day, thank you very much.

When I felt like I was out of earshot, I pulled up recent contacts. Lisa had called me only Friday night. I let out a breath and dialed her.

It picked up on the first ring.

"Void Cowboy?" Lisa asked, sounding almost astounded. "I was just thinking about you."

"Ah, just got out of the shower, then? I understand; I have that effect on girls." I shifted my phone to the other ear. "But real talk: did you kidnap Panacea Friday?"

"No. And we didn't kidnap her any other day, either."

"Okay, let's say I believe ya, Lis'. What about Coil? Seems like the sort of thing he'd do."

Lisa hummed for a moment. "He _is_ that kind of guy, isn't he? But it wasn't him this time. Couldn't be."

"You sure? You're absolutely, positively _sure_?"

"I wouldn't say I'm _sure_ , but I do have a strong theory that I'm working on. Maybe you can help me flesh it out a little."

"Oh?"

"I'm just wondering," she said, "why you want to know. Because last I checked, you wanted nothing to do with me. And now here we are. Someone you know get hurt, and you need a healer? No, that's not it. Help me out, here."

 _Because I beat her up and left her in a dumpster, and I need someone to take the blame._

Aloud, I said, "Because I just heard that she's missing, and I want to help find her out of the goodness of my heart." Channeling Simone, I added, "It's part of my heroic redemption arc."

"Neat," she said. "I always wondered if it was my power telling me when people were lying, or if I just had a naturally good instinct for it. Now I know. Either that, or you just suck at deception. It almost sounds like you _want_ Coil to have kidnapped her. Is there something you're not telling me?"

"Just how much your voice warms my heart," I said, clenching my free fist.

"Uh huh," Lisa said dryly. "Well, this does explain a thing or two. To answer your question: I am entirely certain Coil had nothing to do with this, for the same reason that I haven't been able to find her and get the heat off my team. Every time I try to figure out where she is, my power feeds me lies and misdirection, something that usually only happens when you're involved. And considering how desperate you seem to lay the blame for this at the feet of my boss, that can only mean one thing.

"Youuuuu fucked up," she singsonged. I could practically feel her smugness oozing out of the phone's speaker and into my ear.

I grit my teeth. "Might I implore you to go die in a fire at your earliest convenience?"

"Anyways, _Greg_ , I gotta go fake my parents' signatures on some paperwork, so I'll see you later. Ta ta." She hung up.

I took a deep breath. Everything about that call from its inception had been a mistake. If regrets were carbs, then this would be like filling up on pasta and breadsticks, then ordering five desserts.

Before I could brood over it, the girls walked up to me.

"Sooo," Simone asked, "how did it go? Didja find the missing girl? You don't look too happy."

"You could say that," I said, rubbing my face. "Hey, Simone, this might be a long shot, but you wouldn't have any idea about what happened to Panacea, would you?"

She tapped her chin. "Dunno. I was pretty drunk that night. To be honest, I don't remember much. Probably don't want to, either."

Not ominous at all, that.

"But," she went on, "I'm pretty sure I'd remember murdering her and stashing her body where nobody can find it. Like, 95% confident. Why do you ask?"

Emma and Sophia exchanged glances. Sophia almost looked a little worried there.

I grimaced. "Okay, I need y'all to bear with me on this, aight? Because I _think_ I may have unintentionally murdered Panacea and stashed her body where nobody can find it."

Sophia and Emma uttered something to the effect of "What?"

Simone, however, said, "If I turn you in, will I be a hero?" before reaching into her pocket. "Shit, no phone."

I shot her a glare. "I said _may have_. I mean, I'm pretty sure she was still breathing, last I saw. But hypothetically speaking, if someone were to beat the living shit out of her and toss her in a dumpster, she'd just heal herself and get out, right?"

Sophia crossed her arms. "She can't heal herself."

I swallowed. "Shit. You're sure?"

Emma gave me a look. "Oh my god, Greg. Everybody knows that."

Simone just shook her head.

I felt myself growing faint. "Well, fuck."

"Greg?" Simone prodded.

I inhaled sharply and clapped my hands. "Alright, change of plans! Girls, instead of shopping for new clothes, we're going dumpster diving for waifus."

* * *

A/N: In my defense, she does belong in the trash.

* * *

Comment of the Day: **Beacon21**

 _The only thing I hate about this chapter is that the retribution against Lisa isn't fair. It isn't from the person who was betrayed by her, but instead by her teammates who are douchebags, her boss who is a card-carrying supervillain and the dumbasses in PRT. Void Cowboy only hangs up on her, there's no psychological breaking or anything._

You know what? You're right. You are 100% right. Lisa isn't wholly to blame here. This was Coil. This is why Timeline A Greg thought that Timeline B Greg would forgive Lisa. But what Timelime A Greg failed to realize was how much of a petty asshole he really is. In a very real sense, B!Greg is aware this is Coil's fault, but he is _so_ angry at Lisa for letting him think maybe he and here could be a thing that his rage utterly blinded him. This is why Coil chose Timeline B. It was better for him in every way. Greg is very petty and self-obsessed, and as a result, B!Greg has a massive hate-boner on Lisa, not Coil, since while Coil fucked him over, Lisa fucked with his head and heart, which was way too far for him.

Which is why B!Greg (now our only Greg) just refuses to think about Lisa or Simone or now Taylor. He prefers not to think of his major failires. Which causes only kore problems.

Greg is _not_ a good, perfectly intelligent person. His pettiness and narcissism rule him. And soon, so will our mutual friend Jack Daniel.


	17. Interlude 3: Panacea

Interlude 3: Panacea

— 61 —

"Jesus!"

Amy looked up towards the voice and shielded her eye—the one that wasn't swollen shut—against the flashlight. When her sight adjusted, she saw a PRT officer standing above her. His nametag read "Carlyle."

The officer just stared at her. "So. Um. Come here often?"

Amy blinked. "Wha…?" It hurt to speak, and she felt nauseous.

"Just… trying to figure out what a girl like you is doing in a place like this," Carlyle said. He stepped back, his radio crackling.

"Are you… hitting on me?" Amy asked.

"Yessir. In a dumpster over in the alley," Carlyle said. "And, if she were anyone else, I'd say we need Panacea stat."

— 62 —

"To summarize," Armsmaster said, pacing the hospital room as if walking could get the stick out of his ass, "you attempted to steal Void Cowboy's duster and puppy, threatened him with pepper spray, and tried to arrest him yourself?"

"Before he beat me half to death and threw me in a dumpster yes," Amy said. Morphine was one helluva drug, but it only worked on _physical_ pain. "Are we done here? I should probably get out and start healing people soon."

"Just a few more questions, Panacea," he said.

Amy sighed. "We've been over it twice already. I'm getting tired."

Armsmaster nodded. "All the more important to record the details of the crime before your memory of it fades. When you took Void Cowboy's duster, did he have anything else in the pockets? A mask, or—" He paused for a second, probably to read something off his visor. "A bandanna?"

"Yes, there was a bandana." Amy had been keeping her answers short and to the point. The sooner they finished, the sooner she could start healing, and the sooner that happened, the sooner she could go home.

"So, in other words, his costume."

Amy rolled her eyes.

"When you took his costume," Armsmaster continued, "did you have any intention of impersonating him?"

"I—what?" she sputtered. "No! It was just comfy. And it had pockets. _Pockets_." She repeated it as though the emphasis could make him understand.

"You are aware that a group of supervillains attempted to impersonate him earlier? They wore replicas of Void Cowboy's costume."

Amy shook her head as if to clear it. "Maybe Void Cowboy kicked my head too hard, or maybe it's the morphine, but I don't see where you're going with this."

"Did it occur to you that the duster might not have belonged to the real Void Cowboy? That it might have been another decoy costume used by the villains, and therefore evidence in an investigation?"

Something clicked through the morphine haze. Armsmaster wasn't investigating Void Cowboy; he was trying to get her to incriminate herself. She didn't know why he would think she was the bad guy here, but thanks to Mom of the Year, she could at least recognize the familiar pattern of an interrogation.

So she did what she was supposed to do in this situation. "I want to see my mom."

His lips tightened. "I'll be happy to get in contact with her when we're done."

"I don't wanna deal with this," she sighed. "Let's cut the act, okay? Am I under arrest, or am I free to go? And if I'm under arrest, I want to see my mom. I'm a minor, and she's my lawyer."

Armsmaster froze there, as if trying to figure out something very hard. "I'm only trying to help you, Panacea. You battered an independent cape, stole his costume, and tried to kidnap his puppy. In light of recent events, the Protectorate had decided to treat puppynapping as a serious crime, and whether I agree with our policies or not, I have to enforce them. Do you understand?"

"Um, no? This is insane. Ha ha. Please tell me this is all a joke."

Armsmaster sighed heavily. "Over the last week I had to sit through sixteen separate meetings with everyone from Alexandria to Chief Director Costa Brown telling me how and why puppy theft is wrong. They even brought in Mouse Protector to explain it to me. Personally. For six hours. Do you have any idea what that's like? So no, Panacea, I'm not joking."

"But I'm a _hero_ ," she said weakly.

"You believe that your years of service as a hero will earn you leniency?" he asked with a slight chuckle. "That's what I thought as well, before I admitted to taking a puppy that didn't belong to me."

"But you were just doing your job!"

"Finally! Someone gets it!" he almost shouted, throwing up his hands. He seemed to realize she was staring at him, so he cleared his throat and locked his arms behind his back. "You're still going to jail, though. And one that note, you have the right to remain silent…"

Amy stopped listening. All she could hear was this voice in her head—her own voice—and all it did was scream that she was in hell. There was no other rational explanation. Void Cowboy had split her skull open in that dumpster, she'd died, and now she was in hell.

— 63 —

"I'm not healing them," Amy said, crossing her arms.

Carol gave her a look. She was dressed in a suit, which meant lawyer mode. Armsmaster had stepped out due to attorney-client business.

"That's not a good idea, Amy," she said. "When you heal the people who got hurt fighting today, you remind them of the benefits of a good relationship with New Wave. If you refuse, that won't make them let you out any faster; all you'll do is look like a petulant child."

Amy let out a deep breath, wishing the morphine wasn't starting to wear off. "This isn't about when they let me out. It's about Void Cowboy getting away with what he did. Besides! You said Armsmaster violated my Miranda rights. Nothing I told him is admissible, so they don't even have a case against me."

"That doesn't change that we want good relations with the PRT, Amy," Carol said with an edge to her voice. "And refusing to do your job isn't going to make them reclassify Void Cowboy as a villain."

"He busted my eye!"

"You stole his puppy," Carol countered. "And speaking of which, you still haven't explained why you attacked him in the first place. Why not leave it to people whose job it is to fight?"

"Because they were all too busy losing to a stupid watermelon." Amy glared up at Carol. "I was there, Void Cowboy in front of me, and I had to choose whether to stop him or let him leave."

"You should have let him leave," Carol said with a slicing hand motion.

"I'm a _hero_!"

Carol's expression grew even more severe. " _Heroes_ don't do what you did there." She practically spat the words out.

Amy recoiled at the venom in her voice. Where did that come from, and why was she making such a big deal of this? "I don't understand. Heroes fight villains all the time," she said, surprised at how bitter it came out. "It's what you do. It's what Vicky does. What makes it so bad when I do it?"

"Vicky doesn't steal a coat because it looks comfy and has a lot of pockets," Carol hissed.

"No," Amy said, "she gets Dean to buy it for her instead."

Carol slammed her hand down on a bedside table. "You think this is a _joke_ , Amy?"

Amy flinched, then grit her teeth. "What do you want me to say?"

With effort, Carol seemed to calm herself. "I want you to say that you're going to heal everyone. Let me handle the charges, because that's my job, and you get back to doing yours."

"My _job_? What about their job, the Protectorate's?" Amy asked, seething. "They're supposed to arrest villains, not protect them and throw them parties." She sighed, though it was half growl. "I've made up my mind, and you're not changing it."

"So you're not healing the police, PRT, and heroes who got hurt keeping all the civilians safe today?"

Part of Amy wanted to. Back down. Agree to heal everyone. Just go back to the way things had always been, because that was easy. Back to being New Wave's good little PR boost, back to Carol having her way, back to Void Cowboy going unpunished.

Was _that_ the heroic thing to do?

The thought drove a spike through her heart.

"I'm not healing them," Amy said firmly.

Carol glared. Really glared. Amy was glad Carol's powers didn't include heat vision. "And what then? When they let you out, will you still refuse to heal the heroes?"

"Until they do something about Void Cowboy? Yes."

"What about everyone else?" she asked. "Will you stop volunteering at the hospital? What if one of the heroes comes to you out of costume? Will you refuse to help them then?"

Amy had to admit she hadn't thought that far ahead. "Maybe I just won't go back to the hospital?"

The words hung in the air. Carol sat there beside the bed, stunned.

She shouldn't have said that. She didn't really mean it… did she? The spike in Amy's heart twisted a little more.

"You won't… go back to the hospital?" Carol spoke the words slowly, evenly, as if they were some kind of venomous snake she didn't want to startle.

Amy swallowed. Carol was looking at her now, waiting to see if she'd explain. But her throat was dry. She couldn't speak. She swallowed again.

 _I didn't mean it._ The words almost came to her lips. But as the words came to her, so too did the thought that maybe she had meant it. And she also knew that no matter what she said now, Carol would never forget this. Even if Amy could pass this off as just a teenage girl acting out, saying something stupid that she didn't mean, Carol would never forget. The look of horror in her eyes promised that.

Amy let the silence stretch.

After an eternity, her adoptive mother made a show of shuffling her legal papers into neat order. "I see," she said crisply. Then she seemed to deflate a little. "I'm sorry you feel that way, Amy. I'm sorry that I have to do this. And… I'm sorry. That I didn't raise you to be better than this."

With that, Carol's mask of icy professionalism returned, and she left the room, leaving Amy to her bed and morphine.

— 64 —

Two days later, Amy was released from master/stranger quarantine.

* * *

a/n For someone who knows a lot about legal rights, Armsmaster sure did botch his interrogation on Panacea. Almost makes you wonder if he did it on purpose. Following the letter of his orders to question her, but ensuring none if it could be used against her. Hmmmm.

This marks the first of two middle-arc interludes put here because I am the writer and I have gone drink with power

* * *

Comment of the Week: Memetic Drunk (Who boy this is a long one, lemme ciff note)

 **The negative qualities, is a gripe I have with titular main characters, mostly the one's from western media or populist writing. They essentially fail to completely comprehend the merits of incompetence in main characters. For Heroes, there's always that clear defining "He's a good guy" moment or "HERO" character trait, or "I was only pretending to be retarded", that just screams out to me "Oh, he's that kind of main character." and the competence and goodness of the main character shines through. Villains are filled with competence and keikaku dooriness, and I dont want a machiavellian character that isnt capable of self introspection, I want a character that is evil or bad and accepts that and moves on or struggles with their faults through self reflection. For these guys theres barely a struggle of selfishness vs heroism and the main character will hardly be intentionally written as incompetent. Misunderstandings and ambiguousness just makes it funnier and relatable.  
** **...  
** **I was reminded of the merits in reading about a selfish character struggling with heroism and self preservation, with ambiguous leanings and reasons, incompetently flawed understanding with crippling negative traits like foot in mouth syndrome, forgetfulness, carelessness, destructive desires, having a one track mind and being a crazy chick magnet in Ereg. He does have good qualities, and even those are demerits. He's buff but narcistic, he's smooth with his words but, non commited to actions and idealism, he's competent up to a point, disciplined only to himself, he's funny but offensive, he cares about people as he knows them but doesnt put himself as part of them, its purely human introspection and fucked up reasoning that makes him so loveable. I can love a bad person but I hate bad characters. You can be cruel, disgusting and flawed but dont be boring and predictable. Most OC or SI arent as interesting as Ereg, they arent as memorable or as quotable. The worst thing a character can be is a bore. For all that Ereg did nothing in story, he wasnt boring, and that means more to me than any 30 chapter superpowered crime fighting skit.**

Honestly, being told what you're writing is one of the highest compliments you can give a writer. I honestly wish I could have a meaningful dialog here, but there's a lot you wrote. I encourage y'all readers to check out the reviews. Personally I hate the "review" system of here, as I can't do a normal dialog in the comments for other people to see like I have on Spacebattles.

Ereg here is not meant to be perfect or great. Honestly, his more atrocious flaws make him more fun to write. Because he's prone to make bad, but interesting, in-character decisions all the time. Plus his general pettiness lets him occasionally have good lines. But, really, I'm just happy folks can enjoy reading this weird little thing that all started one drunken October day.

But hey, compromise to me not being able to say much more here. I have a Discord y'all can join if you have masted the art of the copypaste. Just delete some symbols and make some room, and you might be able to show up and shitpost. Through be forewarned, I'm working more on some RWBY stuff at the moment. Still, I'd enjoy your shitposting and **everylasting praise**. Say hi to over at _Maison d'Orléans!_

Hit us up on Discord at discord.(g) (g) (slash) uJ6zpNd


	18. Interlude 4: Dinah

Donation Interlude 4: Dinah

— 65 —

Slings.

They weren't the worst. Sure, it meant she couldn't move her arm, but Dinah figured that she could at least milk it for something, like getting seats on a crowded bus.

For the moment, all it did was let her use the "waiting for Panacea" excuse to remain by the ruins of the PRT building, sitting on a chunk of concrete that had once been part of a fountain. The PRT had cleared away almost all of the civilians by now, but they didn't exactly want adorable little girls going to their events and coming back visibly injured, so here she was.

"Hey."

She looked up and saw Missy standing there. A spiderweb of cracks ran through Missy's visor, and the dress part of her costume looked like she'd gotten into a fistfight with someone's lawn and lost. Still, the leftover flecks of glitter in her hair sparkled neatly under the floodlights, and she almost managed to make it look cool.

The only thing missing was a smile.

"You look like shit," Dinah said, the words tumbling from her mouth as soon as she thought them.

Missy gave Dinah a flat look. "I was just attacked. By my own markers. My own glitter, too. Do you have any idea how traumatizing that is?"

Dinah shrugged with her one usable arm.

"I've had those markers since I was eleven! I thought I could trust them!"

"The things we love always cut the most deeply," Dinah said, quoting the tagline to a horror movie she'd seen. "Where are they now?"

"Why?"

Dinah poked her sling. "'Cause Vista sigs are all the rage."

"They're under a fire truck," Missy said bitterly. "And on fire."

"Aw, really? Rest in peace, markers. You will be missed."

Missy smiled at bit at that. "It's good to see you're alright. Relatively, at least."

"Takes more than a little trampling to get me down." At Missy's concerned look, Dinah added, "I'm fine, really."

"Sorry you got hurt because of me."

Dinah waved a hand. "You invited me, but I decided to go. Not your fault grown-ups don't know how to exit in a 'calm and orderly fashion.' Besides, there's still Panacea. Whenever she finishes with…" She looked to Missy for an explanation.

"You want the official answer? No comment."

"And the unofficial answer?"

"Go home," Missy said, sitting down next to her. She pressed her shoulder against Dinah's side, trying to get her to make room.

Dinah didn't budge. Instead she gave her biggest, saddest frown. The one she practiced in the mirror in case she needed to make people feel guilty. "It's… it's almost like you don't want me here." Then, perking up and giving her slung arm a waggle: "You saying I gotta heal this naturally?"

Missy gave a heavy sigh. "Just one more thing we can all thank Void Cowboy for."

"Wow, Vista, can you say that again, only a little more bitter this time? I don't think you were obvious enough."

Missy just gave a sad little chuckle. It hurt Dinah to hear.

"You wanna talk about it?" Dinah asked.

"It's just…" Missy looked around at the destruction, her gaze eventually settling on a tangle of news vans that looked like someone had tried scrunching them into a ball. Then, almost leaning into Dinah's shoulder: "It's been a long day."

Dinah nudged her back with her shoulder. "Go away. Get your own chunk of concrete to sit on."

"Nuh uh. I like this one."

"Just use your powers. Then we'll both have enough room to sit."

"Can't. Not with your fat ass sitting right there."

Naturally, Dinah refused to move.

They settled into an easy silence, Missy leaning into her, just watching the clean-up effort. Slowly, her smile faded. "I still don't get it," Missy said. "All of this. For _what_? For a stupid dog?"

"Hey, Woofers isn't stupid. He's awesome!"

"Oh yes of course. Totally worth ruining a city block over."

"It's not like this is the first time a cape fight's gotten out of hand," Dinah said.

"Yeah, but..." Missy sighed again, then looked up as if searching for the words. "Void Cowboy saved my life," she said at length. "When I was choking on glitter, I didn't even notice the fire truck about to fall on me. We were on opposite sides, but he still dragged me away before I got hurt.

"Actually, he kinda reminds me of you, Dinah. But a boy. And without the blackmail."

"In other words, worse in every way," Dinah said assurédly.

"When I talked to him on PHO," Missy continued, almost bitter, "it was like… I dunno. The most normal thing. Ever since I became Vista, it's like that's my life. Everything's about powers, fans, or the next PR event. I'm not allowed to have problems because there's always this image I need to live up to." Missy smiled a little. "And then here's this guy who doesn't care about any of that. The only thing he gives a shit about is his damn dog."

Dinah grinned. "He's a guy. Of course he has a one track mind."

Missy laughed. "It was great, though. Just being able to talk to someone. No pressure. No worrying what they'd think about me. What they'd say about me. It's like when I talk to you."

She looked Dinah in the eyes, as if searching for something. "And then he did _this_ , and all I could do was stumble through those dumb lines the PR guys drilled into me. 'Turn yourself in. We can still fix things.' And when he walked out, I called him a villain."

"He is a villain, though," Dinah said. "At least technically, right?"

Missy put her face in her hands and growled. "It's just so stupid! Why did he have to do it?!"

"You said it yourself. The only thing he cares about is his dog."

Missy shook her head. "What was I supposed to do? What was I supposed to say?"

"I don't think there's anything you could have done," Dinah said.

Missy let out a long sigh. "I just wish… I dunno. Why couldn't jerkface Aegis be the bad guy I have to fight, and Void Cowboy could be my cool, older teammate?" She gave a weak laugh.

Dinah gave Missy a look. "If you have a crush on him, then I'm out. Stop the planet; I wanna get off."

" _Sure_ ," Missy said, rolling her eyes. "Void Cowboy might be 'Slightly Less of a Dick Now,' but we all remember what he was like before."

And then someone cleared their throat. Above them.

Dinah looked up to see Aegis floating there, arms crossed. His normally red costume was covered in spots of dirt and darker crimson, at least where it wasn't cut or torn. He wore a tight blindfold, but he still managed to look right at them.

"Sticks and stones, Vista," he said. "It's been a long day. I just had twenty bones broken and my eyes ripped out by a brick. I am _beyond_ caring what you think about me."

Vista looked like she'd just been slapped. "I didn't—"

"Save it. I've been looking for you for the last ten minutes," he said. "Which is kind of hard to do with no eyes. And since you had the most _contact_ with Void Cowboy, the new Director wants a report with everything you know on his desk first thing tomorrow. Apparently he's just dying to hear about your crush on the city's latest supervillain."

"As for you," he said, turning at Dinah, "you need to head home before your parents start thinking you got kidnapped."

— 66 —

 _Missy: guess whos cleaning toilets for the next 2 weeks :headdesk:_

 _Dinah: because aegis heard u?_

 _Missy: yeah :~(_

 _Missy: that and the shirt thing_

 _Missy: btw whats a good way to start a suicide note? asking for a friend_

Dinah sighed and pocketed her phone.

She could still see the remnants of the night's battle from her spot on the curb. The closest bus stops were nothing but rubble, and the streets looked exactly like you'd expect after a cape fight. Nobody would be using those for at least a few weeks. Add to that a chunk of concrete blocking the entrance to the local parking garage, and cabs were likely the only real way home for lots of people.

As Dinah sat there waiting for hers, she tossed a pebble across the street, where it tinked off the windshield of an overturned ice cream truck. Part of her wanted to say screw Aegis, but it was kind of hard to stay mad at a guy who'd just lost his eyes.

The thought almost made her feel guilty for making such a big deal about her arm, but then she remembered that she actually hadn't whined about her injury. Unlike Aegis.

"Still thinking about the eyes? Amazing what a blindfold and a stern expression can get you."

Dinah looked up to see a tall, thin man wearing PRT body armor. Except he looked squeaky clean; unlike every other officer she'd seen, this guy clearly hadn't been part of the fight or the subsequent cleanup. He also wasn't wearing the standard issue riot helmet.

"I'm not saying it didn't happen," he continued with a wink. "The best lies are those rooted in truth, after all. But as far as tricks go, playing up an injury is as classic as it gets."

Dinah frowned. Was he trying to imply something about her sling?

It was a very real and moderately painful injury, dammit!

"Wait," she said with mock horror, "you mean Aegis might have _bent the truth_ to get what he wanted? What kind of monster would _do_ that?" She gave him a flat look then. "Thank goodness I have a nice, honest guy like you here to set me straight."

He chuckled at that. "You know, before I talk to someone new, I like to play things through in my head a few times. Try to imagine how a conversation will go, what impression I want to make."

"And that was the best you could do?"

The man gave a kind of 'can you blame me' shrug. "I'm actually not that good with kids. Maybe it would be easier if we considered this a professional interaction."

Dinah glanced towards the PRT tent city. There were still enough people (and cops) here that if she screamed, she'd easily get some help. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Tell me," the officer smoothly, "do you think your friend Vista is happy?"

 _No, she isn't_ , she thought. _And it's none of your business._

The officer nodded anyway, as if reading her mind. "You don't have to say it. That's the dirty secret about people with powers: they're all broken, in some way or another. None of them are happy. Whether it's Aegis, or Vista, or even that new cape who showed up today. Everyone has something they wish they could change."

"Why are you telling me this?" Dinah asked. "And who are you?"

He handed her a business card. "As a matter of fact, your friend's happiness _is_ my business." _Thomas Calvert, Interim Director, PRT ENE_ , it read. There was a phone number below it.

"Oh. Cool. Um, why does it say ' _interim_ director'?"

"The current director was injured in the fight. I'm filling in until she recovers."

Impressive! The fight was just a couple hours ago. Either there was a 24/7 Kinkos nearby and he'd rushed there, or he'd been expecting this. "So… you're just lucky that Panacea isn't around?"

He shook his head. "I think the higher-ups have been looking for an excuse to sideline the director for some time. This interim thing could become long term if I play my cards right."

"And… you think I'm one of those cards? Or, what? I'm not sure where you're going with this."

"You know about Void Cowboy."

"What has that got to do with making Vista happy? Wait." She looked at him with dawning horror. "You heard the part about the crush. You want to play _matchmaker_ with them?"

Calvert laughed. "That might actually be fun to try. Do you think it'd work?"

Dinah made a face.

"I was thinking more of a straightforward deal between you and me. You help me with Void Cowboy, and I help your friend with Aegis."

Dinah tapped her cheek in thought. "Okay, that makes more sense. I'm not really sure I could help you though."

"But you do know him?"

"A little. I'm not gonna sell him out, if that's what you're thinking."

"The PRT would never dream of making you compromise your principles like that."

"Uh huh. And you'll have Vista's punishments go away?"

"A favor for a favor," Calvert said.

Dinah hummed thoughtfully. "How do I know you're the real deal? Anyone can print a fake business card."

Calvert considered. Then he pointed. "Do you see Armsmaster over there?"

"Yeah. Why?"

Calvert took out his phone and dialed. Armsmaster excused himself from talking with someone and stepped away.

"Director Calvert?" came a voice from the phone.

"I need you to raise your right hand in the air."

Armsmaster hesitated. "Is this because of the Panacea thing? With all due respect, I said I was sorr—"

"Raise your right hand," Calvert said with more insistence.

Armsmaster did.

"Wave."

Slowly, he did. A PRT officer standing in front of him looked around before giving an uncomfortable wave back.

"And smile," Calvert said. "You have fans watching."

Armsmaster continued to stand there with no visible change. After a minute, Calvert ended the call and looked at her expectantly.

Dinah gave a one-armed shrug. "I don't think he smiled."

Calvert chuckled. "I'm a PRT director, not God."

Just then a yellow cab pulled up to the curb.

"Looks like your ride is here," Calvert said. "What do you say? Do we have a deal?"

Dinah shook her head. "I still need to think it over. I'll call you when I know?"

He nodded. "But don't take too long. The longer you wait, the less your knowledge is worth."

"Okay," she said. Then she put on her best innocent little girl expression. "Um, one more thing? I don't actually have the money to pay for a cab. So, if you could lend me some, that would be great."

— 67 —

Dinah let herself fall face-first onto her bed with a groan.

Hardly a moment went by before her phone buzzed. Because of course it did. She fished it out of her pocket.

One A.M. was upon them, and Mom had finally replied.

 _Dinah: where r u?_

 _(New!) Mom: Flight delayed. Home tomorrow. Leftover Chinese in the fridge._

"Thanks, mom." She'd finished that, like, two days ago. Part of her was tempted to just put her shoes back on, walk to the local convenience store, and grab the least awful looking corndog for her dinner. She hadn't really had anything to eat for half the day.

Part of that was because her parents hadn't done grocery shopping for over a week, and eating out had quickly burned through the allowance she'd saved up. She might be able to con some boy out of his lunch on Monday, but she didn't like the idea of 1) having to to wait till Monday for food, and 2) having to rely on someone else.

She wondered if future Dinah had these problems. The one Greg had told her she'd become. A supervillain Dinah with superpowers. She bet _that_ Dinah didn't have to worry about food money or cab fare.

That Dinah probably rolled around in ill-gotten piles of cash and rode home on a back of a giant dog monster or something. Future Dinah probably had steak and lobster with mashed potatoes for dinner.

Current Dinah, however, could only roll onto her back and stare up at the ceiling.

The ceiling stared back at her, as it always did. She liked to imagine the ceiling pattern looked like an unpainted fresco, and that, if she squinted, she could see unpainted faces.

Dinah took out her phone again. This time she texted Greg, wondering if he had anything to offer.

 _Dinah: hey i gotta talk to you about something_

Her new message sat below several older ones asking when she'd get powers and what they'd be like. He hadn't replied to any of them. Frowning, she scrolled back through a litany of unanswered texts. How long had it been since he'd actually talked to her?

Funny. Greg had promised that if Dinah needed help, he'd be there. Now it looked like if that time ever came, she'd be all on her own.

Not like she wasn't on her own anyways.

 _Dinah: nvm, i know u wont answer_

 _Dinah: screw you_

Maybe Missy was still awake. Dinah pulled up their chat and paused at the last message.

 _Missy: btw whats a good way to start a suicide note? asking for a friend_

It made her chest ache.

 _Dinah: dunno if you're still awake. need to talk_

It took a minute before the reply came.

 _Missy: cant_

Dinah blanked her phone and shut her eyes.

Future Dinah doubtlessly had whole networks of contacts she could bug at any hour, day or night. Lucky her.

Current Dinah rolled onto her stomach, then back, again and again like she was a lethargic washing machine. She felt hungry and hollow, and sleep continued to elude her.

She took out the business card from before. _Thomas Calvert, Interim Director, PRT ENE_. Dinah idly used the corner to clean under a fingernail as she lay there, thinking.

Greg had told her she was going to be important, the right hand of a powerful supervillain. She could imagine Future Dinah going back to her team's secret, underground lair, where they'd laugh at how naïve that Calvert guy was.

" _He thinks he was just lucky that the director got hurt when Panacea wasn't around_ ," Future Dinah would say.

Her teammate would chuckle. " _Luck. Right. He doesn't know it yet, but soon he'll be little more than our puppet_."

Then they'd both share an evil laugh while waiting for the evil takeout to arrive.

Current Dinah smiled a little at that. But Future Dinah would probably tell her that real supervillains don't lie in bed wishing things were different. They change things. They take what they want. And they certainly don't make deals with the PRT without at least taunting them and making a few unreasonable demands.

Calvert answered on the second ring, but he didn't say anything.

"Hello?" she asked.

The only sound was his breathing.

"Um," she said. She wondered if he was waiting for her to introduce herself. "This is Dinah? You asked me about Void Cowboy?"

She thought she heard him take a drink.

She hung up. Maybe it was a bad time. Maybe he'd answered the call without realizing it.

Maybe she could just wait until tomorrow. Or the day after that, since no one did things on Sunday.

Except…

Except that wouldn't work. She had to do this now. Future Dinah was counting on her not wussing out at the first sign of weirdness.

She called Calvert again.

"Listen," she said as soon as he picked up, "I don't know what kind of creep world you're from, but normal people don't just answer a phone call from a girl and breathe heavily at them."

He didn't reply.

"I know you're there," she said, pounding a fist against her pillow. "I can still hear you breathing!"

"Ugh," he said as length. More of a groan, really. "Sorry, I just… I was distracted, alright? And tired. And I've had a few drinks." He sighed. "It's been a long day."

"What, were you doing that thing you told me about? Picturing how you want the conversation to go?" Dinah asked testily. "Because I gotta say, seems like it hurts more than it helps."

"Honestly? It's more of a social anxiety thing," he said. "I have trouble speaking first over the phone. Everyone at work thinks it's some kind of 'power move' to control the conversation, but really…"

He sounded honest. But then, that kind of honest tone also made for hiding the best lies.

Dinah grunted. "At least tell me you don't usually do this with teenage girls?"

"Uh," he said, dragging out the sound. "Define 'usually'?"

"Wow. Y'know, ever since Void Cowboy showed up, it's as if blackmail material just walks up to me. I don't even have to work for it anymore."

"Void Cowboy?" he asked as if perking up.

"Yeah. Y'know, that guy you wanted to know more about?"

"Ideally," he said. "He's too much of an unknown, and that makes him more dangerous than I'd like. That goes double for that angel friend of his."

"So, creepiness aside, I wanna make a deal," she said, sitting up taller. "And I'm gonna need more than a favor for Vista. I want information. The kind only a PRT Director would know."

Calvert was silent for a long moment. When he spoke again, he sounded less casual, more guarded. "Is this about Panacea? I _could_ be convinced to share what happened there."

"This isn't about Panacea," she said.

When she'd first met Void Cowboy, he'd mentioned a cape—a supervillain—who she worked under in the future. And despite all her searching, she'd never found out anything about him, other than a wiki page saying he existed. She figured that if anyone knew more, it would be the PRT Director.

"What do you know about Coil?"

* * *

A/N: Closing thoughts? There we go. The culmination of a lot of threads. For the record, this takes place around the same time as the Panacea and especially Lisa interludes. We see here how Greg's poor explanation for who Coil is has lead Dinah to believe he's a cool villain, and that she was his willing sidekick at some point. If not for Greg's frankly dumb habit of not checking texts due to some anxiety/spaghetti-in-pockets reasons, he might have bee able to set Dinah straight tonight. But no, and thus he broke his promise to her.

By the way, thanks, Greg. You not only gave Dinah a horrible impression, but directly because of your actions, Thomas Calvert is acting director of the local PRT. That bodes well.

Now this little girl oddly connected to Vista and with a direct line to Void Cowboy (when the bastard answers) is calling up an inebriated Calvert to directly ask him what he knows about Coil, his supervillain alter ego. That is 100% sure to get fill interests, and we'll see how this pays off for Dinah next arc. Rest assured, she's not bound for a cage in Coil's basement. Not unless you count "Junior PRT intern" as a cage, but, I'm getting ahead of myself.

And if you wanna talk (that is, shitpost like the offenive idiots me and my friends are), hit us up on Discord at discord.(g) (g) (slash) uJ6zpNd

* * *

Comment of the Day:


	19. Chapter 15

Chapter 15: Hoodie Pup

— 68 —

"Pancakes?"

I rapped a fist on the side of the dumpster, and the clanging echoed through the rubble-strewn alley. Nearby the noise of traffic and café-goers continued; I hoped we weren't drawing too much attention in the daylight, since I was technically returning to the scene of a crime.

"So, this is the famous dumpster?" Sophia asked.

"Yeah. Tossed her in for safekeeping." I knocked on the lid. "Anyone in there? Pancakes? Panpan? Pananamacea?"

Sophia and Emma exchanged conspiratorial glances. I wasn't sure what it meant, but it probably wasn't good for me.

I poked at the hefty piece of broken concrete pinning down the dumpster's lid. "Anyone care to help me move this?" No response. "Simone?"

She squinted at the block. "Dunno. Looks kinda heavy."

"I saw you—" I began, then paused to glance towards Emma and Sophia.

The two girls were more clever than I'd given them credit for. More to the point, I was pretty sure Simone thought the word " _obvious_ " was something French, and therefore was fancy and something you wanted to emulate. It hadn't taken them long to make the _l'obvious_ connection between Seraph and Simone, and Simone was way too happy to basically confess, without a care in the world.

When I'd asked her about it during a brief moment moment, she'd said, "What, were you expecting something a little more knifey knifey facey facey with them? Please. Not everyone gets the V.I.P. treatment like you."

I thought it was a terrible idea to just out yourself like that. But then, within a minute it had turned Simone from creepy weirdo into cool friend with the most popular girls in school, so maybe Simone was playing some sort of four-dimensional chess or something. Might've be a good call after all.

So she probably wouldn't mind me saying this.

"I saw you lift a fire truck; this should be easy," I said to Simone. "Beside, I bet the girls here would love to see you in action, wouldn't you, ladies?"

"Might be kinda cool," Sophia said, a little guardédly.

Emma shook her head. "I just want to see you do work."

Simone tapped her cheek and hummed in thought. A moment later a large pile of bricks rose from the ground and stacked themselves neatly on the dumpster, next the concrete block. "There we go," she chirped. "Now everyone gets what they want."

"Seriously?" I asked

She nodded. "C'mon, Eric. Work those muscles!"

"Eric?" Emma asked.

"It's his middle name," Simone said, so smoothly that I imagined she'd been practicing that answer for a while. "He hates it."

I rolled my eyes. I preferred not using that name here, but whatever. I reached for one of the bricks Simone had placed.

It wouldn't budge. Not even a little bit.

I frowned, then glared at Simone. Her innocent smile didn't fool me for an instant.

"Fine, fine," she said, waving for me to continue.

This time when I pushed, the rubble scraped across the lid with a gritty shriek of metal. I gave another heave, and it all tumbled off, smashing into a dozen fist-sized pieces on the pavement.

I turned around and flexed. "How 'bout that, ladies. Impressed yet?"

Without comment, Sophia stepped up to the other half of the dumpster and lifted the lid. Not the one I'd been working on, but the other one. "Oh hey, this side works too."

"Yeah but your side doesn't burn as many calories," I said, a touch defensively.

"Riiight." She casually glanced inside the dumpster then shrugged. "Don't see any bodies."

Simone came to look inside it too. "Yup," she said. "That's pretty empty. I was promised damsels to rescue. Where are my damsels, Eric?"

"I don't know."

Had Lisa lied to me? She'd seemed so damn sure that Panacea's disappearance was my fault, but if the dumpster was empty…

No. I refused to believe that anyone could fake that level of smugness. Not even Lisa. There had to be a reason for it.

"So, now what?" Sophia asked, snapping me from my thoughts.

Emma shrugged. "I say that since we were nice enough to follow Greg all the way out here, the least he could do is buy us lunch."

"Or dinner," Simone said. "It's almost five."

"Dinner, then." Emma looked my way and added, "I mean, unless there's a few more dumpsters you'd like to impress us with first?"

"Ooh! Ooh!" Simone said, almost jumping up and down. "I saw a neat looking café near here last time. They have really big donuts!"

— 69 —

 **Subject: ur fucking dead**

 **From: GloryGirl**

 _Message: think you can hurt MY sister?_

What followed was the Glory Girl equivalent of the Navy Seals copypasta. She'd sent the message this morning, and it was almost impressive how she'd had the singular focus to rage type it all out.

I just sat there at the café, reading through the various death threats, explicit and otherwise, while the girls chatted between themselves.

I hovered my finger over the "report user" button, then thought better. Because reporting people to the internet police was always so very useful.

 _XxVoid_CowboyxX: k_

 _XxVoid_CowboyxX: How's Amy doing?_

The reply came almost immediately.

 _GloryGirl: shes alive_

 _GloryGirl: which is more than u can say when i find you_

 _GloryGirl: she told me what you did to her_

 _XxVoid_CowboyxX: Self defense. Did she tell you how she tried to steal my dog?_

 _XxVoid_CowboyxX: My duster too. Because it was comfy and had pockets._

 _GloryGirl: fuck u_

 _XxVoid_CowboyxX: Aren't heroes supposed to_ defend _people getting mugged in alleys? You should be on my side._

 _XxVoid_CowboyxX: Tell her to buy her own if she liked it that much._

She began typing back. But that moment, dinner arrived, and I didn't exactly have time to respond. The waitress, after a short glare on her part, handed me the check. I looked it over and groaned.

"Hey, this ain't so bad," Simone said, looking at the bill in my hands. "You can probably afford this."

I let my head fall back onto the table where it belonged. They'd gotten lovely meals, and here I was with a stout glass of water. Water was free. And I was paying. Because of course I was.

This was like Taylor and that Italian place all over again.

Maybe if I just didn't say anything, they'd forget I was here.

"Cheer up, Greg!" Simone said, smiling. "This place is great."

So much for sulking my way out of troubles.

"This place is weird. Everytime I do anything, the waitress over glares at me and I don't know why."

"That?" Emma asked, glancing over. "I thought it was obvious."

I gave the other two girls a confused look. "Either of you know what she's talking about?"

Sophia shrugged, then went back to her food.

"You're forgetting he doesn't speak girl," Simone said to Emma. Then, to me: "It's because you were here with another girl a few days ago. She thinks you're a terrible person."

"Not a girl, a heinous bitch," I corrected.

Lord Woofers lifted his head from a café-provided bowl of water and barked.

"It's okay, boy," I told him, patting his head. We had been seated at the very table Lisa and I had shared Friday night. I even got the same view of the PRT building, though it was now in ruins. Honestly, I was surprised the city government had managed to clean the streets over the weekend enough for traffic to resume.

"Plus we're all pretty sure you're texting a fourth girl," Emma added. "Which is both kind impressive and sleazy at the same time."

"Yeah, sure, whatever," I grumbled, arms folded. "Don't care. And just so you know, if anyone tries to order more than one dessert, I swear I'll run out the door and leave y'all to pay the bill."

"Don't really like sweets," Sophia said.

"And I gotta keep up my figure or I lose my job," Emma said. Right, because she was a teen model. Somehow.

"Oooh," Simone squeaked, "if they don't want anything, can I order for them? I want three of the biggest donuts they have."

I scoffed. "Everyone knows the rules for dessert. There's a price."

"Yeah?" Simone asked, tilting her head.

"Just because I'm paying doesn't mean it's free. It'll cost you at least a kiss."

Emma gave me a contemptuous look. "Seriously?" She turned to Simone. "This is the guy you went all out for"

Simone gave a sheepish shrug.

"At least have the balls to ask for tits or something," Sophia said, gesturing with her fork.

"I'd normally go for that," I said. "Or at least some nudes. But none of you are older than fifteen, and I don't feel like going to jail."

Sophia frowned. "Since when do you give a shit? You're a villain."

I winced. A quick glance revealed no one but us in our part of the café.

"We're the same age," Emma said. "And besides, it's only illegal if you get caught."

I crossed my arms and leaned back an inch. "Really not carin' for this change of attitude."

Emma met eyes with Sophia and said, "Aw, did we hurt his feelings?"

Sophia shrugged.

Simone looked between us all, a slight frown on her lips. "I don't get it. Aren't you all friends or something?"

Emma actually laughed. "What gave you that impression?"

"I always saw it as cats playing with their food, really," I said.

Almost idly, Simone picked up a butter knife and gave it a spin on the palm of her hand, as if playing spin the bottle. "I don't really like where this is going," she said.

"How about you tell us where you want this to go?" Emma asked, running a hand through her red hair. "Greg's idea was a bust, so what do you wanna do?"

My mouth tightened. Shit was embarrassing. They didn't care for me, but they'd listen to Simone? Her defending me was downright emasculating! Meant they respected her, not me.

Simone frowned. "I dunno. Anything that lets me be a hero."

Sophia laughed. "PRT building's right over there, girl. Or what's left of it. Wanna go over and sign up for the Wards?"

With a dark look towards Sophia, Simone set the knife down firmly on the table. "Ain't exactly an option right this now."

Emma suddenly had this sly grin. "Well why not? You only did all _that_ because Void Cowboy told you to."

"That's not exactly how it happened," I said.

"Isn't it? If you hadn't said anything to her, would she have even been there?"

Simone gave her a look. "What, so I say that he mastered me?"

Emma shrugged. "Something like that. It doesn't really matter what story you use."

"It doesn't matter," I said with emphasis, "because they'll never believe it."

"They'll believe it because they want to," Sophia said, poking a fork at her empty plate. "Let her join on a flimsy excuse, put her on probation, and she fights for them instead of against them. Pretty obvious to me."

Simone gazed out towards the ruined PRT building, a thoughtful look on her face. Seriously thoughtful. Like, actually considering it.

"Simone," I said, "you're not really buying this whole schtick, are ya?"

She hummed, then shot me a sly look. "Dunno, Greg. It all depends on just how many desserts I can order. Ooh! And I think I need a new dress. My old one got a lil' damaged in the fight."

Emma leaned forward. "Sophia and I know all the best places for dresses."

I stared at Simone, trying my best "You're bluffing" face. Honestly, I'd had it at this point: it was either cave in and look like a bitch, or risk losing my artillery. Her expression didn't change.

"I can't make any promises," I said at length, "but I was planning to take Woofers to the mall later."

The pup made a noise that was almost like a "Hmm?"

Scratching his head, I said, "Little guy's been through a lot. Figure he deserves something special. If y'all wanted to tag along, I don't suppose I could stop you."

"So in other words," Emme said, "back to plan A?"

I waved my hand at her. "No, it's plan P for Puppy. I'm just letting you come because Woofers here loves company. Right, boy?"

He barked.

— 70 —

Lords Woofers the Indomitable poked his head out of my backpack as the girls and I entered the mall. I could feel his tail thrashing around, like he was trying to become a helicopter.

"So," Emma began, "I think the store with the dresses is—hey, where are you going?"

This last bit she said as I just up and walked away. There was a pet store right there, and I had to go in.

The shop was relatively thin; one side and the very back were full of treats and pet toys, and the other side of the store was a valley of glass terrariums filled with animals just waiting for adoption.

I walked through the animal-filled aisle first, letting Lord Woofers gaze upon his less fortunate comrades. He gave them this really smug "haha I am adopted and you're not" look the whole time.

"So… is this normal?" Simone said from behind. "Going out with a guy and he starts ignoring you?

"This has literally never happened to me before," Emma said, almost baffled.

"Same here," Simone said, "Only more the going out with a guy part."

"Sophia," Emma said, "do you…" She trailed off.

I spared a glance over at them. Sophia almost had her face pressed up against a display case filled with kittens. As I watched, the smallest kitten tried to drink from a bowl, only for a much larger kitten to bat at its head, dunking it into the water.

"Sophia?" Emma prodded.

"Shut up," Sophia said. "This is awesome. Mom never let me have any pets."

I tuned the girls out. Instead, I set Woofers on the ground and said, "Alright boy, whatcha want? Go find a toy or something and it's all yours."

At first he looked around, almost nervously. Then he just scampered off towards the toys, where he quickly started sniffing at everything.

He wandered around until he found a joke rubber beer bottle. Woofers took it in his mouth, and it squeaked in his jaws. He dropped it on the ground before pawing at the fake cap. For a moment he looked confused, then he tried gnawing on it.

"Looks like I ain't the only one with a drinking problem," Simone said, ambling up beside me. She nodded at my dog.

"He, you, and I make three of us," I said. "Now, stop trying to be funny, Simone. Ain't never gonna work."

She looked Woofers over. "You wanna pick up some dog treats too? Maybe a leash while we're here?"

"I didn't know you had that kinda fetish!"

Simone gave me a look. "For him, ya doofus."

"Well there goes all them fun thoughts," I said, frowning.

She rolled her eyes. "Y'know, if ya think about it, he and I got a lot in common. Both adorably dangerous. Both got a drinking problem. And both blindly loyal to you for no good reason."

"If today was any indication," I said, "then you're both loyal because I feed you."

She punched my shoulder. "Jerk." But she was smiling.

"Greg!" Emma said, suddenly exploding onto the scene. "They have puppy-sized baby clothes at the place across from here! We gotta get Woofers a little puppy hoodie!"

— 71 —

Woofers made a half-growling sound as he paced around the food court table. Every few steps he'd trip on one of his new hoodie sleeves and fall over. Then he'd look up at me with these big, sad eyes that said, _Why do you suddenly hate me, Greg?_

Of course, every time I tried to disrobe him one of the girls would hiss at me and insist he's cuter with it on.

Bloody tyrants, the lot of them.

"We don't need to get more food," I said, looking the food court over.

"He does, though," Sophia said. It was just the two of us holding down the fort while Simone and Emma found something suitable for the dog. Why they wanted to feed him fast food was—

"Can I hold him?"

I blinked. Had Sophia just asked that? Y'know, that really dangerous piece of work with a penchant for brutality? Then again, back before I was Greg, I'd studied criminology, and there'd been this one experiment where they let violent prisoners handle and raise dogs, and that seemed to really help them. I'd even seen local inmates working the morning shift at my local animal shelter.

"Reckon so," I said.

She hefted the pup up into her arms like a baby. She flipped the hood down and gave him an almost experimental scratch behind the ears. When he didn't explode or anything, she continued with more enthusiasm.

"So, little guy," she said, almost musingly, "are you really dangerous or just a pup with dumb luck?"

He nipped at her petting hand, then looked up at her, wagging his tail.

"Cool," she said. Then, looking up at me: "He's happy. Why's he so happy all of a sudden?"

Before I could say anything, Simone plopped down in the chair next to mine. "Hey," she said, "if I was pressed up against your chest like that, I'd be a happy camper myself."

Emma sat down next to Sophia, a little box of chicken nuggets in hand.

Sophia smiled as the little guy scarfed down the first offered bit of food. "Damn, look at him go! Dunno know if I said anything before, but if I did, I take it back. Everything you did to rescue him from the PRT—totally worth it."

Simone snatched a nugget from Emma and held it out to Lord Woofers. "Helps make up for the ruined dress thing, I guess."

Sophia ran her fingers across the dog's belly as he scarfed down the nugget. She didn't even seem to notice Emma's sly grin as the redhead snapped photos of the whole thing.

I frowned. "D'y'all really gotta feed him that junk? You're gonna ruin his gains."

Sophia took a nugget for herself and offered it to the dog. Lord Woofers happily ate it out of her hand.

"Think I can borrow the little guy and make him my sidekick?" Sophia asked.

"Isn't he a little cute for your image?" Emma said.

Sophia shrugged. "He makes bombs and starts fires, right?"

"I guess," I said.

"That makes him cute _and_ destructive. I can work with that."

" _I'm_ cute and destructive," Simone added, leaning forwards.

"So," I said, drawing out the word, "what you're saying, Simone, is now that I got my pup back, you're redundant?"

Simone snapped her fingers. "Damn. I've been found out."

Emma reached out and pet Lord Woofers herself. "Y'know, that is sort of relevant. You've got some awesome powers, Simone. What are you gonna do with them?"

I felt a bit uneasy about the open powers discussion. But with all the noise from the food court, I couldn't even make out the table nearest me.

"I don't really know yet," Simone said, brushing her blonde hair from her face. "I mean, I should probably start with something small."

Sophia raised a brow. "If you want to hang out later, we could totally go hunting some gangbangers."

Simone considered.

"Think about it. You, me, and our puppy sidekick. I know the city. I know where shit happens. And I've got a few places I've always wanted to take down, just didn't have the firepower."

"What about me?" I said, tapping at my forehead.

Sophia frowned. "Do you have anything to even contribute in a fight?"

I held up my foot and spun the wheel I had in my bootheel. "Mover rating of at least six."

"Because that really helped us make it to the Simurgh fight on time."

"Wasn't my fault I crashed into that pet store," I said, crossing my arms. "The hill was way too steep."

"Which is why you also had to try to put back all the bunnies you accidentally unleashed."

"Free bunnies are a disaster waiting to happen!" I snapped. "Did you know there's this massive fence in Australia just to try to keep the bunny plague out of the southeast?"

Sophia rolled her eyes. "Fine. You can come. But if you can't keep up, we're leaving you behind. And first you need to learn how to fight."

While my grandfather had trained me a bit, it hadn't proven all too useful with the exception of beating up Panacea.

"Are you offering to train me?"

Sophia shrugged. "I'm offering to punch you in the face until you quit."

"Aww," Emma added, "you actually _like_ him."

"Don't she also beat on folks she don't like?" I asked.

Emma shrugged. "Girl can be very expressive with her fists."

We exchanged contact information, and I made sure to get multiple ways to reach everyone. Didn't want a repeat of last time. When we finished, Simone and Sophia headed off to the washroom together, since girls already had to go in pairs for reasons entirely beyond me.

But hey, with them gone, I could hold Lord Woofers myself again.

"Hey, Greg," Emma said as I scratched behind my pup's ear. "Look, I don't usually do nice things for people…"

"Oh really? I never would have guessed."

She rolled her eyes. " _But_ if you promise not to tell, I think I can make an exception. Just this once."

"Uh huh. Either this is some kind of trick, or no one would believe me anyway."

Emma laughed. "I'm serious here. You got Sophia to act all cute and happy, and that's a miracle in itself. Pretty sure I can blackmail her with that for months. And—" she sighed "—I do kinda still owe you one for… for the time with the Simurgh. At the party."

I gave her my full attention.

Emma breathed deeply, as is psyching herself up. "So I'm going to help you out here. I know we joked about it earlier, but you really should buy Simone a new dress. You know that really cool one we had her try on? The one she clearly loved but pretended she didn't care for?"

I crossed my arms, a sour look on my face. "Nuh-uh, no way. You roped me into dinner; you're not roping me into being a free wallet."

"Did you even once give Simone's clothes a good look over?" Emma snapped hard enough that I almost flinched.

"Ain't exactly this year's latest fashion," I said a touch cautiously. "So what?"

"Because I can tell when everything someone owns comes from a thrift shop. Just like I can tell that dress of hers, the one that got wrecked, meant something to her; she mentioned it twice. And need I remind you that the only reason she was there, sacrificing her best shot at being a hero, was for you?"

"Laying it on a bit thick there," I said bitterly.

"Don't be a piece of shit, Greg," she all but hissed.

I didn't meet her eyes. I just sat there, petulantly petting my puppy.

"What we did today, the four of us? It was fun. I want to do something like this again. But we can't if you're in jail.

"So buy her the damn dress, and you might still have an ally to bail you out the next time you're in trouble. And believe me—now that you're a villain? That's gonna happen a lot sooner than you think."

I glanced towards the bathrooms, then over down the mall towards the shop with the dress Simone had shyly tried on.

Then I sighed. "So. You recall what size it was?"

— 72 —

I cast my eyes over towards the clothing store a ways down the mall. With Simone's size memorized, I figured I could jog over to the store, snag the dress, and surprise her with it. Might even get a thank you kiss for my ever-so-thoughtful efforts.

I stood up and almost knocked a girl over. She looked like she'd been searching for a table, which she likely needed, as her bruised face seemed like it'd just tried headbutting her way through a brick wall.

"Pardon me, ma'am," I said quickly.

"Oh, uh, it's no—" She stopped mid-sentence and just stared at me, eyes wide. Or, well, one eye wide, and the other a little bruise-swollen.

"Fuck, it's you," she said, almost in despair. Then, as if she were about to gouge out my eyes: "Fuck, it's you!"

"Um, do I know ya?" I asked.

"Course you do, asshole!"

"Greg," Emma said in a warning voice, "have you been pissing girls off behind my back?"

"I dunno!" I told her. "I'm _Greg_. I do that just by existing."

"I'm talking to you, asshole!" the bruised girl hissed. "Did you seriously forget already, or do you just beat up so many girls that they all look alike?"

I blinked. Then things clicked into place.

She was wearing a new coat with all sorts of pockets, but it absolutely had to be her.

"Amy!" I said, clasping my hands on her shoulders. "Glad to see you're not locked in a hospital room."

"Don't touch me!" she hissed, slapping my hands away.

Lord Woofers gave an agitated bark from my backpack.

"I can't fucking believe it," she said. "You tell Vicky _today_ to take me shopping, and then you go to the mall right after? I think you need to get your precog powers checked, because either they're working against you, or you are seriously fucking dumb."

"Maybe it's a trap," I said with a smile.

Her eyes flicked to Emma. "Wait, are you—"

"Nope," Emma said quickly. "I'm just eye candy. Not part of this one bit. I do like the coat, though."

"I know, right?" another girl said cheerily. Before I knew it, a well-built blonde appeared as if from nowhere, holding a tray of food. "It looks great, it's got the whole red and white design, _and_ it was on sale for, like, thirty percent off. It's _perfect_."

The blonde set her tray down on the table next to us. "Victoria Dallon, but you can call me Vicky."

Emma smiled. This was her element through and through. "Emma Barnes. My dad and your mom are friends at work."

"Yeah? Small world, I guess." She glanced my way. "Who's your friend?"

"Um, Vicky?" Amy hissed in a hoarse whisper. "That's _him_. The guy who did _this_." She gestured to her still partially swollen eye.

Vicky's friendly smiled dropped in an instant. "Oh," she said in a flat, almost dumbstruck voice. She just stared at me, and I'm pretty sure my balls retreated into my abdomen under the weight of her gaze.

"This kinda changes things, huh?" she said.

Then she cracked her knuckles, a huge, toothy grin crossing her face.

* * *

Comment of the Week: **Someguy the anon**

 _first off:_  
 _what the hacking ding dong did take so long get this, you literally have already written and have it posted on spacebattles._

 _second off:_  
 _holly heck this is great, I kind of hope Dinah ends up becoming "future"!Dinah eventually, and the concept of the PRT-intern that is in fact an antagonist to a minor extant is great._

First: Yeah, I been slow recently. I just enlisted in the Army and am doing some training before I ship off to basic.

Second: Future!Dinah is the complete evil monster sidekick to both Void Cowboy and Coil. Stick around, folks. It's gonna be fun.


End file.
